


Moments of Happiness

by SandrC



Category: Dungeons and Daddies (Podcast)
Genre: AU of an AU, Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Angst with a Happy Ending, Body Horror, Brainwashing, Canon-Typical Violence, Eldritch Horror Hildy, Emotional Manipulation, Gross misuse of the Geas spell, Magical manipulation, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-06
Updated: 2020-09-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:00:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 22,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26313034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SandrC/pseuds/SandrC
Summary: When all is said and done, the mentally reforged Henry steps back into Faerûn to try and save his sons and put right what he ran from. Only it's been several years for them, not several days, and he arrives just in time to hear the bad news: Darryl, Glenn, and Ron were caught trying to infiltrate Oakvale.While he can't make right the time he lost, he can help rescue his friends and, rushing against an ever tightening Geas and the realization he's going to have to face his father, Henry can only tuck his chin and march onward.
Comments: 34
Kudos: 23





	1. Leave Me Alone (Henry)

**Author's Note:**

> Hey hi hello.
> 
> So...you know how sometimes you start writing an au and then somehow write an au of that au? No? Just me? Ah, fuck.
> 
> Well anyway, this here is an au of the planned end for Memories. Thankfully, you don't have to read Memories to know what the fuck is going on here — partially because Memories isn't finished and partially because it's not like it'll matter in the long run — but I'll give you the rundown.
> 
> At the beginning of the Oakvale arc, Barry placed a modified version of the Geas spell on Henry, forcing him to be more subservient and more like the Hen he remembers. This nuked Henry's memory but, in a fit of desperation, he tore his way back to Earth, to Mercedes Oak-Garcia, and recovered. Meanwhile, years passed in Faerûn and the sons and dads continued on, hoping that he'd be back. Also he's an elf. Everyone in Oakvale is. Shh. Elf!Henry rights.
> 
> Anyway, this is set after Henry has pulled himself together and found his way back to Faerûn, in a world where Lark and Sparrow have had to grow up a bit without him. And, while a little different in tone than Memories, it still does deal with emotional and magical manipulation and abuse from a parental figure as well as torture framed as "discipline". Also a lot of victim blaming and bad habits formed from living in a place that teaches you that you will never be enough.
> 
> (Willy Stampler sucks but Barry Oak is personal haha.)
> 
> Anyway, I'm gonna try and add cw before each chapter but also don't be afraid to ask me to warn for things. I may miss something!
> 
> And please pay attention to the tags. I'll try and snag shit as it becomes relevant but ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ I am only human.
> 
> Hope you like this (about 20 thousand word long, completed) AU of an unfinished AU haha. It was a delight to write.
> 
> Son Classes (for reference):  
> Lark Oak — Seeker Warlock, Pact of the Chain (Hildy Russet)  
> Sparrow Oak — Fae Wanderer Ranger, Close Quarters Archer  
> Grant Wilson — Echo Knight, Great Weapon Fighter  
> TJ Harker — Abjuration Wizard  
> Nick Close — Way of Shadows Monk  
> Paeden Bennett — Forge Cleric (Hephaestus)
> 
> They're all level 6. Please understand I did this to myself because it's fun and I like dnd mechanics (unlike the dads themselves haha)
> 
> Anyway, please enjoy.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DND fact of the chapter: Geas cast at a ninth level lasts forever unless broken by a ninth level Greater Restoration or a Wish spell replicating that effect. Or, yanno, the Moon card from the Deck of Many Things.
> 
> _"Better the devil that you know than the devil that you don't."_
> 
> (Title by I DONT KNOW HOW BUT THEY FOUND ME)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Mild asphyxiation, mentions of magical coercion

The first thing Henry Oak encounters upon his return to Faerûn is one of his two beautiful sons, Sparrow Oak. Specifically, the business end of Sparrow's bow. Even more specifically, the business end of a very angry Sparrow's bow.

"We needed you and you were _gone_!" The arrow pointed at him looses and strikes the dirt at his feet. It's jarring, but not as jarring as what's being said to him.

It knocks the air out of him. For all he tried to let them be their own people, somewhere along the line he had forgotten they were just _children_. And now, a reminder.

Sparrow nocks another arrow and draws back his bow, the sharp bite of magic curling around the brown and white fletching near his cheek, reflecting off the tears on his cheeks. "We _needed_ you and you _left_. You _ran_. And no matter how much we asked, no matter how nice I was, _you didn't come back_. So _Lark_ asked _Hildy_ and _she_ said you went _home_ and home wasn't _us_! Were we not enough?!"

"Sparrow, _of course_ you—" the arrow misses his foot by a hair, the wind shocking the words out of his mouth. Dark vines of creeping roses shoot up from the ground where the arrow planted, winding up his legs and pinning him in place. " _Sparrow_ ," he tries again, more desperate, the keening animal in his chest—remnants of Hen, panicked and apparent in his ears pinning back and his pupils narrowing to thin slits— _begging_ for release.

Sparrow cuts him off, nocking another arrow, sneering. "Well you're _not_ leaving. I won't let you hurt us like that again. And more than that, I won't let you take away our chance to save everyone. Darryl, Glenn, and Ron have fucking gotten caught by Barry and you're the closest thing we might have to a bargaining chip so...you're staying the _fuck_ put."

Henry's every instinct is begging him to run or fight. He can tell, even with his legs trapped in the roses Sparrow conjured, that he could make it. Even in this part of Faerûn, even deep in woods Sparrow has probably been more or less living in for the past few years, he can outpace him. More than that, Henry is certain he can hide for far longer than Sparrow might be willing to hunt him for. But he doesn't want that.

Despite Sparrow's animosity, Henry wants to be _there_ for him. He wants to make amends for leaving them in their time of need. He wants to prove that he won't leave them. He wants to be there for his sons.

So he doesn't struggle. He stays put and faces down the tip of Sparrow's arrow, ears pinned back and pupils blown. He holds tight to the infuriating fear in his chest and lets it brew. Makes it _useful_.

" _Okay_ ," Henry says, slowly, "I _won't_."

This throws Sparrow's for a moment and he catches the inside of his arm with the arrow, hissing in frustration and pain as a red welt raises almost immediately. Henry can see the faint tears in his eyes and, without thinking, pulls on his Circle and heals him.

" _Stop that!_ " He hisses at Henry. "Stop trying to _help_ me!"

"I _am_ ," he tries to assure Sparrow but a sharp sting of magic tightens the roses around his legs. " _I am!_ "

"And _I_ want you to _stop_ that! You're _not_ allowed to do that! Not _now_! It's too late to come back and expect everything is okay!"

 _Oh_. That's why he's acting like this. Well...that wasn't going to be a thing he was going to fix without a little effort and a _lot_ of time.

Henry splays his fingers wide and stands stock-still. "I'm not going _anywhere_. You can trust me. I'm _done_ running."

Sparrow narrows his eyes and glares at Henry but the thorns around his legs loosen, then disappear. He pulls his arrows from the dirt and wipes the heads free of the soft mud. The entire time he refuses to stop glaring at Henry and the sinking pit growing in Henry's chest grows ever deeper.

"It's about a day's travel back to the rest of the group," he says, curt. "We'll have to make camp in a couple hours but we need to _go_. No one hunts around here except for me anyway, so we should be fine."

"Lead the way," Henry offers.

"You don't get a choice," Sparrow retorts.

The woods are soft and smell _wonderful_. Henry is acutely aware of how much he missed outdoors. More than that, how much he missed camping. Maybe when they get back, after everything settles into a new normal, he can take the sons and the dads out camping. See what their survival skills can do for them in a world not _actively_ trying to kill them.

 _Despite_ the cold shoulder, Sparrow seems at ease here. It's a stark contrast between the rambunctious young boy he remembers last seeing and this more stoic, weathered teen before him. _This_ Sparrow isn't a child punching a tree for fun and profit. _This_ Sparrow is a hunter in his element.

Eventually, though, the sun sinks too low for Sparrow's eyes to adjust and he quickly gathers a handful of wood into a small teepee campfire. Henry Creates Bonfire atop the kindling and Sparrow leans back against a tree, eyes shimmering in the low light

"Which one _are_ you?" Sparrow's voice is low, crackly from crying, though there's a momentary crack from puberty and Henry's heart breaks. He missed so much, didn't he?

" _Hm?_ "

"Henry? Or the one who came before? _Hen?_ " He says it like it's a dirty word, something filthy, something _hated_.

Deep in his chest, Henry is acutely uncomfortable. He shifts in his spot and shrugs. "Both. Neither. _I don't know._ "

Sparrow's eyes don't leave him, narrowed and suspicious. When Henry answers, he bares his teeth in a sneer. " _Bullshit_. Whatever. I can just get Paeden to get the truth out of you. Doesn't matter." He pokes the fire with a stick, idly scattering sparks everywhere. "And _then_ we'll trade you for the others and we'll leave. And you can stay here...or you can go _home_." Again, an accusatory dagger in his chest.

Henry wallows in self pity for a moment. _Two_ moments, actually. Then he speaks up. "I can... _hide_ us. If you want."

"From _what_?"

He shrugs. "I don't know. Whatever might see a fire and think it would be easy pickings? But it would keep our dreams—"

"I _don't_ dream. Thanks but _no thanks_." Sparrow cuts him off and Henry has the wherewithal to swallow his frustration before it seeps out. Now is _not_ the time to parent him differently. _Especially_ considering how much time has passed for them as opposed to himself.

The remnants of the Geas tears at his chest and he takes a labored breath. _Fuck_. Being back in Faerûn is reinforcing the magic. This might prove to be an issue...

Morning comes and Sparrow is up before Henry, the fire put out and properly covered, his bow and quiver in place. He still isn't talking much. That hurts but is understandable. The trek from their camp to wherever it is the boys have been hiding out is long and silent, the pervasive heaviness of Sparrow's resentment blanketing much, but Henry still finds a _bit_ of joy in being back in Faerûn.

It's _strange_ how you don't miss a thing until you do...

When they finally stop, Henry nearly ramming nose-first into Sparrow's back, it's midday and they're right in front of a large lake with a grand waterfall. The surrounding trees are the lovely Waterdeep mix of coniferous and deciduous, oranges and yellows stark against the deep evergreens. Reflecting against the crystalline blue water of the lake, they paint something almost picturesque. _Bob Ross, eat your heart out._

Sparrow whistles a series of four notes in rapid succession and then waits, head tilted sideways like he's listening for something in response. His nose wrinkles and he sighs through his teeth. The waterfall in front of them parts and Henry's elf eyes catch the movement of five figures, all tense, all at the ready. They start moving to meet up with them, their feet stepping across the water of the lake like it's solid

"That him?" _Oh. **Oh** that's **Lark**._

" _Yeah_."

"Which one?"

"Won't say." The bitterness hurts but he can handle it. Henry bites on a response and just smiles in what he hopes is a reassuring way. "You stock Zone of Truth?"

The smallest of the six of them tilts his head at Sparrow then looks directly at Henry. From under a mop of brown curls that haven't seemed to have changed since he left—was _taken_ , it wasn't his fault, he was _scared_ and broken—Paeden Bennet frowns. " _Yeah_ , I do but, _uh_ , you sure it's good to let him see this? Should've knocked him out so he didn't know where we were hidden."

"He's not gonna say _shit_." Definitive truth. "He still thinks we _need_ him." Objective and hurtful.

"Father?" Lark sounds _so hopeful_ and it hurts _so_ much to not move but...Henry is certain that Sparrow wouldn't hesitate to shoot him again. So he stands, stock still, ears flat against his head, and worries at the frayed edges of his sleeves, torn from when he gave up all his components—willingly, to assuage Sparrow.

Still...he can't just do _nothing_.

" _Hey_ ," the word tears at his throat, the Geas tightening. He can't even calculate how many more he has before it takes his breath with it but...he can't afford to hedge his bets. He can't speak Druidic right now. Not when things are so tense.

Lark opens his mouth to say something but Sparrow stomps forward and drags his brother off by the elbow, hissing angrily at him. That leaves him in the care of Nick, Grant, Paeden, and Terry Junior, who look mildly uncomfortable.

They parade him into a cavern in this waterfall cave system that's marked all over with warding glyphs. In the dead center is a large circle made of three interlocking systems of wards and bonds. There's a single glyph that is incomplete and, for all Henry isn't a learned caster, he can recognize the purpose of an unfinished circle. Especially with that many layers.

It's a prison. And he's their prisoner.

It hurts more than he expected it to.

As he complies to their demands, quietly stepping into the circle and sitting down, Nick and Grant exchange a look between them. _So much_ is said there, without words, that Henry feels as if he's missing years of practice speaking without speaking. Still, Grant turns to Terry Junior and ducks his head, "Teej—bindings secure?"

Terry Junior nods. For a moment, Henry can see a flash of bright colored ink against his skin, peeking from over his shoulder. It looks like a flock of bats turning into beautiful tropical fish. It spikes a sense of yearning in the pit of Henry's stomach. "It'd take him burning through every spell slot he has to just dent these suckers. And he'd need a focus anyway, which _he doesn't have."_

Henry spreads his fingers to indicate that he _is_ , in fact, _without_ a focus. Terry Junior frowns and breaks eye-contact, looking instead at Lark and Sparrow. They're still having a hushed discussion, Lark angrily gesturing at Henry with a pearl-handled knife, Sparrow responding by throwing his hands up and storming back to where Henry is being kept. He makes sure to not break the circle, his face hard and hurt.

" _Paeden?_ " Terry Junior prompts. Paeden nods and holds his hands out, fingers splayed. A wash of warm light washes over Henry and he feels the heat of a spell take him.

 _Enchantment_. It wants him to divulge his deepest thoughts. A panic lances through him but he takes a labored breath—as deep as the Geas will allow—and calms down a bit. This _isn't_ Barry's magic. This is _Paeden_. Paeden _won't_ hurt him.

 _You don't know that_ , a more Hen part of him hisses. _You thought Sparrow wouldn't hurt you._

 _I'm going to trust Paeden_ , he idly thinks back, accepting the fear and directing it elsewhere. _Barry has the others; they're planning to trade me to Barry for the others; what will Barry do with me?_

He lets the spell take him. Draw the truth from his chest.

(Further down, he can feel the Geas loosen somewhat. He is Obeying, being Good. A reward. His breath comes a little easier.)

"Litmus test time! What color is the sky?" Paeden asks.

He isn't _compelled_ to answer, no, but he wants to _prove_ he's good. That he isn't going to hurt them. "Last _I_ saw," he says, noting with mild panic the way his throat begins to close up again, "blue."

Do they read the way his ears are pinned as panic for telling the truth? Can they tell he is in pain? Will they care?

"Are you Henry Oak?" Sparrow snaps.

" _Yes_." One word. Easy.

"Are you Hen Ri'Oak?" He asks, no break. Paeden frowns and Terry Junior hisses something Henry can't hear.

" _Yes_." Lark lets out a soft noise of confusion. Sparrow glares at him and turns to look at Paeden to verify.

The eight year old shrugs. "He's not _lying_."

" _How—_ " Grant starts before Henry cuts him off.

"Hen is Henry _before_ and Henry is Hen _after_. They're the same person at different times in their life. I'm _both_ because they're the same person." By the time he finishes, his voice is raspy and weak, the edges of his vision starting to fuzz out.

"Okay, _fine_ ," Sparrow snaps. "So say I _believe_ you. Then why did you _leave_? Why did it take you so long?!"

To be Good would be to answer. To answer requires breaking the Rule to speak in Druidic only, punishing himself. It's a real catch-22. The Good of answering alleviates the pain but not enough that it won't be an issue. And he _still_ doesn't known how many more words he has until he passes out. It's not like before; it's _worse_ somehow.

"I left because when Barry caught me, he cast a powerful spell on me. He wanted _Hen_ , not _Henry_ , and the last thing I could think about was being Home and...your mother felt like Home, _even to Hen_." His vision is swimming, dark and pulsing. His voice is barely a whisper but _he can't stop_. He can't let them think he doesn't love them. _He can't_. "The time difference between here and Earth is so broken that, for the several days I was healing—learning that I am Hen _and also_ Henry—so much _more_ time passed here. And when I could come back I...wasn't strong enough to come back to _when_...I left..."

 _He can't breathe_. The Geas curls at his chest and chokes his breath. If he can't speak Properly, he won't speak at all. His ears ring. If they're saying anything, he can't hear them.

Almost against his will, in a strange act of unconscious self-preservation he mutters in Druidic " **Apologies** "

Sparrows face pinches in fear for a moment. " **A** — _what_?"

" _Dude_ , he stopped _breathing_ for a second, _what the fuck?!_ "

" **Apologies?** " Lark echoes, staring first at Henry, then at Sparrow. "Why would _he_ —?"

"Mom said he _only_ spoke Druidic when he showed up. One of the words he said the most was—"

" **Apologies**." Lark finished his brother's thought, staring panicked at Henry. " _Why_ are you apologizing?"

Henry takes a greedy gulp of air and exhales, feeling the Geas loosen a bit. Not _wholly_ , but _enough_. "Modified Geas. **Apologies**. One of the Rules. **Apologies for making this more difficult.** It is not my intent to do so. I want _everyone_ to understand but I cannot. **Again, my apologies for excluding those of you that cannot speak Druidic.** " Each time he bows to the Rules, his chest loosens more and each time he breaks them, the Geas takes hold faster. _Fuck_.

" _You two_ got that, _right_? Those middling bits?" Grant looks between the twins, his face pinches in confusion and fear. "Coz _I_ didn't. Nick? Teej?"

"Nothing _I've_ ever heard but they said Druidic?" Nick shrugs but his shoulders press against his ears, face drawn in impotent frustration.

"I _could_ cast Comprehend Languages coz the circle is bound but...I don't think we have ten minutes, do we?" Terry Junior looks at Paeden, who looks horrified.

" _He stopped **breathing**_." He squeaks out. "His fingers and lips were turning _blue_. He was _choking_ _as he spoke_. Lark, Sparrow, _what the fuck_?"

"He... _apologized_ for speaking in Druidic and...for making things more difficult..." Sparrow recounts, his eyes never leaving Henry's face.

Henry takes a few more slow breaths. In, hold, out, hold, repeat. Get the blood circulating again.

"You can understand us, but you can't respond in anything _other_ than Druidic? Because of this... _Geas_?" Lark presses. Henry starts to nod, his neck catches, and he instead gives a "so-so" gesture with his hand.

"Punishment. Won't hurt me. Just unconscious. **Apologies for making you worry.** It is hard for me to adjust to the Rules again." He's losing words. _Fuck_. Soon he won't even be able to say a sentence. " _Workarounds_ ," he adds. He doesn't apologize for that. Sparrow looks frustrated, Lark looks _furious_. The other boys look varying shades of horrified.

"What the _fuck_ do you mean Rules?" Sparrow has forgotten any and all anger he had towards _Henry_ for the fear that must course through him. The acute smell of it floods Henry's sensitive elven nose and his ears pin back again.

" _Geas_ ," he reminds them. " **Apologies for not being able to properly explain.** I have been bound to Obey my father's Rules." He holds up three fingers and ticks down one for each Rule "Be Hen. Be Good. Speak Properly. **Apologies**. I had broken its grip on me before but returning to Faerûn has bolstered it again."

"So, _what_ , you have to do what your shitty father said to do or you pass out?" Again, Henry makes a "so-so" gesture with his hand. Sparrow grits his teeth and snarls. Fear has become anger again. An easy step sideways. He wishes they didn't discover that shortcut to feeling less afraid.

Behind him, Terry is frowning, his entire face scrunched into a panicked worry. Then he grabs a leaf and holds it to the light. The bright face of Erin O'Neil flickers into view.

" _Fucking **Geas**?! What the **actual** **shit** does Barry think he's doing?!_"

"Whatever he wants," Henry snaps without thinking. He manages to choke out a fast " **Apologies for my being Rude to you**." before his throat closed off again. Still, his tongue hurts and he works his jaw a bit to get the feeling back in it again.

" _Kids, if Barry fucking put a Geas on **his own son** , you may need to rethink your shit_." Erin warns.

" _Yeah_ , good warning," Sparrow snaps, "But you still haven't told us what a Geas even _is_!"

Erin frowns. " _It's a complicated spell but Geas is more or less **compulsion**. At it's core, you set a Rule or series of Rules. The person under the Geas has to obey the Rules or they get hurt. **Usually** it's a quick and excruciating pain only once a day but...if Barry modified it..._" She trails off, looking pensive.

" **Lark, Sparrow?** " Henry makes eye contact with his sons. " **Apologies for requesting this but could either of you translate for me? I know how this version of Geas works but I will not have enough words to explain it to everyone else.** "

Sparrow looks like he'd rather eat glass. Lark, however, clutches his knife so tight that Henry is afraid he will cut himself and nods.

"I'll translate for him," he says.

" **Apologies if this is complicated, but father took _great_ strides to make sure that this spell would never _kill_ me.**" Henry does not make eye contact with his sons or any of the boys. He can't look at them as they learn the awful things that Barry Oak is capable of. He focuses on Erin, instead, his gaze unwavering for the first time in forever. " **Instead it simply punishes me every time I break a Rule. Slowly but surely, the punishment gets stronger until I either apologize or I am unconcious, whereupon the punishment lets up. I will either learn my lesson and obey the Rules or I will continue to hurt myself. Then it's _my_ fault and _he_ is blameless.**" It's a good thing that Zone of Truth has ended or that final part would have caught. It's a _lie_ , after all. It's Barry's magic that's hurting him. Barry's Rules that are binding him. You can't place the blame on the victim. Not _honestly_ , at least.

As Lark translates for him, Henry can hear his voice catch on the horrific honesty and reality of his current situation. He can feel the whole room's mood change.

" **I could break it again,** " he says, " **but it would take a _lot_ out of me and I don't know if we have the time. He knows I'm back. Apologies.**"

" ** _Fuck_**." Erin breaths.

"What the _fuck_? _What the fuck?!_ What the _actual_ fuck?!!" Grant is hyperventilating, Nick rubbing circles on his back. "Are our dads in danger?!"

"Possibly. **Apologies.** **He prides himself on being benevolent but he doesn't consider others as capable of making good decisions. He won't hurt them _physically_ , but they _are_ in danger.**"

" _Why did you bring him here if they were in danger?!_ " Erin asks, sharp. _That's fair_.

" **Sparrow didn't trust me. I didn't want him to _not_ trust me. And I can get us there _rather_ quickly, if you don't mind me casting some complicated magic**." Lark translates, his whole body tense. Henry hates having to put this on him but...it's that or painstakingly bend the Rules and circumvent the Geas.

" _How strong is this Geas?_ " Henry holds up nine fingers and Erin swears, sharp. " _ **Goddammit** Oak._"

" ** _Apologies_**." He _means_ that one.

Erin takes a deep breath in and then out. " _You boys be safe._ "

"You're not going to _stop_ them?!" Henry asks without thinking. The sudden loss of air sends him into a panicked coughing fit and he manages to eke out another " **apologies** " before he loses all airflow.

" _Bold of you to assume they would **listen** to me, Oak_."

He casts his gaze around at the group. Terry snags a large stave topped with a bright gemstone and a cloak made of what looks like a dark cat fur, tying a thick tome to his waist. Paeden puts on heavy armor over a padded shirt, snagging a long polearm. Grant fastens splintmail and adjusts the large sword at his waist. Nick stretches using a quarterstaff to brace against, his normally lazy grin replaced with a serious stillness. Lark and Sparrow make no moves to arm up, though Sparrow hadn't disarmed from bringing him in.

"Fair," he says, shrugging. He can afford the punishment now.


	2. Welcome to the Black Parade (Henry)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DND Fact of the Chapter: The spell Hallow allows for the barring of certain types of humanoids as well as other effects, such as Tongues, Darkness, Daylight, and Energy Vulnerability. It can last forever if you cast the spell on the same area every day for a year it becomes permanent until dispelled by something of greater strength. The spell Druid Grove also functions similarly, though instead of outright warding, it brings to life the flora and fauna to protect and attack. These two spells create an effect similar to lair distortions that come with high CR monsters like dragons and aboleths and hags. I think that's fitting for someone like Barry.
> 
> _"Would you be the savior of the broken, the beaten, and the damned?"_
> 
> (Title by My Chemical Romance)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Brainwashing, blatant magic coercion, mild physical torture (magically induced)

After suiting up, the six teens—if you count Paeden, by proxy, a teen—stare at Henry in a way that makes him a _little_ uncomfortable. Most of their gaze is confusion and pity. Bits of horror. He _hates_ it but he schools his face into a placid smile, ears back, eyes empty. He takes every bit of vulnerability and pushes it as far back as he can. He hides away, like he always has, and bides his time.

He can hold on until Oakvale. He can hold on to every disgusting part of himself until he has an outlet.

“ _So?_ ” Terry Junior asks, wary. Behind him, the rest shift uncomfortably in place, waiting on him. How long have they not waited on an adult to make decisions for them? Even Erin seemed to be a consultant and confidant rather than a guiding voice of reason. How long have they been self-sufficient? What all has he thrown out of order by just being back?

He swallows a soft self-depreciating sob.

“ **Lark? Sparrow?** ” Henry asks, ears flicked, inquisitive, the rest of the question unasked. They exchange glances and Lark gives him another nod. _Fair_. It seems like more than _just talking_ will help Sparrow open back up again. “ **Thank you**.”

He turns to face the rest of the group and gestures with one hand, mimicking the shape and glyphs of a teleportation circle.

“ **As I said, I can take us to Oakvale but it will be big magic and you have to be _willing_. Otherwise it won't work.**" Lark translates, slowly, confused. It isn't until Terry Junior's eyebrows shoot up and he lets out a soft gasp that any of the rest of them seem to catch on to what he's asking of them. Or, rather, Terry Junior probably is Messaging them so they can plan silently and, because they do not trust him, he is left out.

" _Teleportation?_ " Henry nods and Terry Junior frowns. "But we _tried_ to scry on them half a dozen times and all it got us was a headache and some backlash. Actually _teleporting_ inside an area warded against divination is dangerous and we could take enough damage to shatter bones or liquefy our organs." It's a pity things have changed. The twins Henry remembered from _before_ this whole debacle would have loved the idea of liquefying their organs by way of forceful magic teleportation to where they shouldn't be. Now they just look grim and frustrated by their inability to infiltrate. Which is fair.

" **That's because father has a large ward that encircles the entirety of Oakvale. It keeps the people _within_ safe from the people _without_ , prevents any intended harm to those inside it, and wards against divination and teleportation magic, save the innate skills of the residents. It's what he calls a ' _feat of clerical and druidic engineering_ '. He is _very_ proud of it**."

"And _how_ will you be sneaking us into this so-called 'feat of clerical and druidic engineering'?" Terry Junior snipes. Henry can't help the soft snort that sneaks its way past his attempt at stoicism. Nick rolls his eyes at him, scoffing.

He's missed this, as strange as that might seem.

" **My Circle is the Circle of _Dreams_. I have a deep and profound connection between waking and dreaming and, more than that, I have a connection between the places I have slept. In the same way that I...tore my way to _Earth_ , I can, to a lesser degree, tear a portal to Oakvale. _Just_ outside of the town proper. _Then?_** " He shrugs.

"So _you_ get us halfway there and _we_ do the rest?" Sparrow asks.

" **That's not what—!** "

"Fucking _stop it_ , okay? Now is _not_ the time." Lark snaps back. Henry, shocked, shrinks in on himself, ears flat against his head. " _Just_...not right now, okay? _After_." Sparrow nods and he relaxes a bit.

It still is a sour feeling, watching his sons argue. A reminder than nothing is the same as it used to be.

" **I...don't know _what_ might happen in Oakvale. I don't know what my father has done to everyone else...knowing Oakvale, it won't be _physical_ but...**" He tries to find the right words, the right way to say this. It's _hard_. Harder still when the Geas demands he be Polite. Proper. Perfect. " **You _may_ have to fight them.**"

"We can take them." Nick says without hesitation.

"Do we _look_ weak to you?" Paeden asks. Henry looks them up and down. All six of them look tired but ready, their arms and armaments well worn and properly maintained. A couple of them even glow with residual magic—Lark's knife, Paeden's halberd, Grant's sword—and they look ready to roll. Readier than _their_ fathers had been before this whole debacle, anyway.

" _ **No**_ ," he admits. " **I just _worry_**."

" _Don't_ ," Sparrow offers. "We can formulate a plan when we get there. Teej is good at that."

"So is _Nick_ ," Terry Junior deflects praise with practiced ease. Nick blushes a little bit and looks at the ground.

" **So...Teleportation?** " Henry prompts. It takes a moment before Lark realizes he's forgotten to translate and he hurriedly does so, blushing furiously. " **Are you ready?** " They all meet his eyes and nod. Henry, with practice, grabs ahold of this Plane of Existence and _Pulls_ , connecting this spot and the last place he slept just outside of Oakvale. A brilliant green light waves between them and their destination. Henry gestures for them to step through. One by one, they do and Henry follows them, closing it behind him. The drain on his magic leaves him near breathless but it's not as bad as going from Faerûn to Earth or back again. He can do it, no problem.

Oakvale—or the space _just_ outside of Oakvale—is _beautiful_. Where Oakvale itself is filled with identical trees and Awakened animals and sweet, sterile, _kind_ people, the space _just_ outside is wild and untamed, brilliant fire tones of autumn painting every surface and the deep earthen smell of rot and decay flooding his senses. It's the type of nature Henry likes the best, but he can see the border into Oakvale a few dozen paces from where his Teleportation drops them. Warm tones fade into pretty light greens and perfect browns and symmetrical branches. There is no birdsong or animals near Oakvale. Every creature with an iota of sense avoids the damn place.

And now _they're_ about to _storm_ it.

Henry feels a twinge of pain tear through the space behind his eyes. _Hm_. That's new and not great.

"What are his defenses?" Nick asks.

" _ **None**_." Henry answers without a second thought. " **No one would try and take Oakvale. There's no reason to _actively_ protect it, only passively. _Father_ doesn't hurt others.**"

"Weapons?"

" _ **Disallowed**_."

"Magic?"

" **Only the barrier**."

" _Fuck_."

Henry can only make a noise in agreement. They talk amongst themselves for a big before Lark asks, "Father?"

His ears flick up and he turns to face them. All six pairs of eyes are boring into his skin. He itches. He schools his face into one of placid surprise. " _ **Hm?**_ "

"Would he let _you_ in?"

 _Oh_. They want to use him as _bait_. That's right; Sparrow _did_ say he was going to trade him for the rest. " **He _might_. I would be willing to trade myself in exchange for—**"

" _No_." Lark snaps. Henry's ears pin back and he shrinks in on himself. "No," he repeats, lower, slower. " _We_...everyone is gonna get out of this one. I...Hildy _said_ we would be fine."

"Hildy is _cryptic_." Sparrow snipes. Paeden, behind him, rolls his eyes.

"She's also _right_."

" **To answer your question** ," Henry repeats, pushing against the Geas demanding he **answer speak up do as you were asked** , " **he would let me in, most likely, because he probably believes that I am still _Hen_. That I am servile and subservient to him. _He is mistaken_.**" His tongue goes numb for the Unkind words. Lark dutifully translates, word-for-word, and Henry relaxes slightly as the boys nod at him. " **I _could_ act as the frontline for you, if you like. Distract him. Though I doubt he wouldn't notice someone trying to sneak in."**

"So _what_ , we _ask nicely_ to be let in?" Nick spits.

" _Please_ , mister Oak, can we see our dads, _pretty please?!"_ Grant adds, just as sarcastic. And, while the tone is disrespectful and a small remnant of the Geas stokes a headache in his skull, he agrees. Asking nicely is only going to lead to heartbreak, but they have to remove the barrier first if they want to accomplish anything worthwhile.

" **Terry Junior?** " He turns his head to look at Lark, then Henry, whose ears are back, confused but alert. " **What kind of a wizard are you? What is your specialization, I mean.** "

"Abjuration. _Wards_ and the like. I _thought_ about necromancy but...it was more important to protect people than to be the most goth I could." The soft smirk he wore was heartening.

Abjuration... _maybe_ —? " **You _could_ possibly do something about the barrier. It's most likely another one of father's warped spells. Maybe the base might have been Magic Circle or Druid's Grove or maybe even Hallow, but he most likely will have changed and broken the original concept to make it more...to his _needs_."** His tongue starts to hurt so he stops talking, ears back and his teeth grit tight enough to make his ears ring.

"If it's _anything_ like the Geas you're under, I don't know if I'll be able to do anything about it...," Terry Junior says, softly.

" ** _Someone_ needs to do it.**" It's not a consolation, but a truth. It alleviates some of the pain in his mouth and his head. " **But...we shouldn't linger. He is...aware.** "

He's been able to feel Barry's presence for several minutes now, growing ever stronger. His magic creeping tighter and tighter into the Geas that binds Henry and, while he would love to continue to plan, they just don't have the time. Barry Oak is only _so_ patient, after all, and he currently has the upper hand.

It takes very little prompting for them to fall into some kind of battle order. Nick is up front as is Grant, Terry Junior takes the rear with Sparrow, while Paeden and Lark are square in the middle. Henry finds himself at the very front. Unlike _before_ , where leading the children would bring him some modicum of mental wellbeing, he's more worried exposed like this.

Maybe because it's _his father_. Maybe because he's already gotten his claws in the others.

Maybe because he can hear him approaching the borders of Oakvale.

" _ **Boys**_ ," he says softly. Lark whips his head to face him, concerned, and opens his mouth to ask for clarification but he holds up a finger to stop him. " _ **Please**_."

 _Okay_ , Terry Junior Messages him. _I trust you_.

 _And the **others**?_ Henry asks. Even _Message_ is pushing the limits of Proper, but he tolerates the pain for the communication.

 _ **They** trust **me**_. It's not a reassurance or pittance. It's a fact. This is them in a potentially dangerous scenario. This is their sons ready to fight off the world.

 _Thank you._ Henry steps forward, ears erect and forward, listening, attentive, and trains his face into a kind Oakvale welcome. " **Father** ," he calls out. " _ **Father?**_ "

Just out of sight he can hear him talking to someone, quiet, barely audible, fake cheery. Henry continues to walk forward, the boys trailing behind him, wary. He skirts the actual border of Oakvale carefully, ears forward, eyes aware of every change around him. Which is why he catches sight of the party standing at the border of Oakvale where the road from Waterdeep runs in. Four strong; one tall and thin, one short and slight, one tall and broad, and the final one.... _his father_.

 _All_ of them in Oakvale white. _All_ of them with Oakvale smiles. _All_ of them Oakvale blank _except_ for Barry, beatific and arms spread wide to accept his wayward son home. Henry bares his teeth in a warning smile.

Henry is vibrating with rage. It's an anger he hasn't allowed himself to feel in years, this venom that courses through his skin. His ears pin back and he bares his teeth at Barry, who smiles—like he always does, fake and saccharine enough that it makes him sick—and gestures at the three washed-out imitations of his friends behind him as if he is showing off a new toy. Each of them have eyes like placid lakes. Each of them are _gone_ , their bodies moving to whatever tune Barry conducts.

Behind him, the boys slam into a physical barrier. All six of them stop in their tracks, fists pressed against the magic that keeps them from entering. Henry's mind whirs to try and find _why_ they can't enter. _What_ of Barry's many impossible rules they might be breaking to bar them from Oakvale in its entirety. He can barely focus on what Barry himself is saying.

" _Now, now_ , Hen. It would be Rude to simply intrude, _wouldn't_ it?" _God_ , he forgot how much he _hates_ the sound of his father's voice. And, more than that, how much his father _loves_ the sound of himself talking. "Leading a parade _right_ into your home and you don't even let me know? _Impolite_. I taught you _better_. And they're _armed_?" He clucks his tongue, soft, disappointed. Henry tenses at the sound.

Still, he takes a deep breath in, holds, and exhales. Schools his ears back to something more neutral. Tries to appear placid. " **Apologies, father. _Please_ continue**."

Barry's smile widens, self assured. " _Thank you_. But isn't it Rude to speak in a way that our guests cannot understand?" There is a shift in the paradigm. The Geas tugs and pulls at him in a different way and the change in the Rules catches him off-guard, breath leaving his lungs in a quiet depression.

"I'm _sorry_. You're right," he wheezes out in English. Common. _Whatever_. Behind him, he can hear Lark and Sparrow hammer at the barrier of Oakvale, screaming incoherent swears.

In his head he can hear Terry Junior Message him. _Do you know what's wrong?_

 _No, but I'm **going** to get you in. **Please** do as you're asked for the time being._ The change of the Rules allows the Message to be kinder than before. It still pinches the nerve at the base of his neck, a sharp headache and blinding streak of pain that curls all the way down to his toes.

 _Are you **certain** we can break this?_ Terry Junior sounds worried. He has every right to be.

 _It will be hard but possible. If anyone can do it, it'll be you_. That's the truth. Terry Junior, with no previous experience, had nearly completed Planar Shift. Now, with _at least_ one year of experience under his belt, he _should_ be able to break the ward that encompasses Barry's domain. Maybe even dispel some of the control he has over it. Destroy it entirely. One can only hope.

"I'm glad you see it my way." Barry gestures to the side, just down the road, where a low table is set with a fine dinner and some cushions to sit on. Nearby, other Oakvale elves bustle and make the place pretty for the venerable Bar Ri'Oak, his son Sir Hen, and their guests. " _Come_. Let's talk. It's been a bit...for _me_ , anyway. And I'm sure your friends have a lot they want to ask you, too."

 _Not that they are capable of doing so._ Henry collects himself before he speaks. Organizes his words before he speaks. Everything has to be _perfect_. Barry has to believe _he_ has the upper hand. The children _have_ to trust his judgement. _He_ has to trust _them_ to do their part.

"If you will forgive me, father? Isn't it _rude_ to leave the boys outside like this? I'm sure they, too, would benefit from this conversation?" Neutral, calm, safe. _Be calm on the outside. Don't let him see how you're **really** feeling._ Henry smiles at Barry, gesturing at the heavily armed and angry teenagers.

"That's fair; can they _behave_ themselves? Leave the weapons outside. The staff and grimoire as well. There is no injury to be found in Oakvale." Barry nods at the boys, his ears neutral and his smile placid.

Grant is staring, horrified, at his dad. His dad in a soft linen robe, wearing simple sandals, his face a blank Oakvale happy. His eye catches Henry's and he gives him a faint nod. There is an echo in the others, slight inclines of their heads, barely perceptible. _They're trusting him._

He's never been so relieved in his life.

Nick's face is unreadable but he places his staff down without a word, followed by Grant unlooping his sword from his belt. Then Nick deposits a handful of sharp throwing knives on the ground and another handful of small pellets and another handful of throwing stars. Eventually he unloads his every last damaging item and stands, one hand on his hip, glaring at Barry.

Similar to Nick, Paeden is just _burdened_ with weapons. In addition to his halberd, it takes him several minutes to unhook and pull out all his concealed arms—most of them knives. Eventually, however, he stops and gives Barry a fake and crooked grin.

Sparrow throws his bow to the ground without a second thought, his quiver and two hunting knives following it. Terry Junior places his focus down against a tree and unhooks his grimoire from his hip. That joins the pile of weapons.

All that's left is Lark. Lark who looks angrily at Barry Oak. He holds his hands up, showing off his dagger, and says, " **Soul-bound**."

Barry's smile doesn't change, though the slight incline of his ears indicates he is surprised. "Just dismiss and do _not_ summon it. That will be enough." The blade disappears in a camera flash and he nods in approval. " _Come in_ , then. Join us."

"We'll see." The barrier of Oakvale parts at his command and they enter, tensions high.


	3. B.Y.O.B. (TJ, Nick, Grant, Paeden)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DND Fact of the Chapter: Way of the Shadow Monks can spend ki points to cast Pass Without Trace without components, as they are basically ninja. Their whole deal is being unseen and fast. The exact language does not specify an upper limit on the amount of creatures that can be targeted by this spell, just that it requires concentration, buffs your stealth rolls by 10, and the affected creatures need to remain within 30ft of the caster. Therefore, the instant that Nick moved to get their weapons and foci, the spell went with him. I totally didn't pick Shadow Monk for Nick for sad reasons, what are you on about?
> 
> _"You depend on our protection, yet you feed us lies from the tablecloth."_
> 
> (Title by System of a Down)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: brainwashed characters, deadnaming, emotional manipulation

TJ takes great care to not make eye contact with the broken and bleached out version of Ron sitting in front of him. Instead, his fingers make arcane gestures, quiet and slow. He has to take great pains to make sure he isn't noticed, though Nick bolstered his stealth with some of his ki. And even before they came in, Paeden threw down a Bless for everyone in the party and he continues to maintain his spell, keeping close eyes on every Ri'Oak that passes near.

Just like Henry had said, the barrier and boundary of Oakvale is a complicated and tangled mess of clerical and druidic magics, woven together using force and a power TJ is trying his best to unravel. Between the level of the spell—somewhere probably around ninth, judging by the complexity of the commands woven into it—and the muddied threads of arcane and divine and natural that make up the almost suffocating net that encircles Oakvale is frustrating to think about. Plus, nothing in his self-taught wizarding could have ever prepared him for some old piece of shit elf forcing a square peg in an oval hole.

Plus there's the shades of their fathers to deal with. That's at least month's worth of therapy, to say the least.

 _It's fucking horrifying_ , TJ thinks as he looks at this placid and happy Ron that is eating whatever is placed in front of him—not even sorting it by color and then eating it one small bit at a time—and making pleasant conversation with the broken Oakvale Glenn, _how much I'd prefer **Willy** to **this**._

With Willy, at least the danger is imminent. It's _visible_. You know it's coming. Here, everything is so calm that it sets his skin on edge. He'd rather Barry hit them than just talk idly about the weather and the local harvest. Then they could have a reason to hit back without looking ungrateful.

 _ **No wonder** Henry is so high strung._ He idly pulls at a thread of magic and tries to find the solution to this Gordian Knot without alerting Barry. Three micro-units down this strand, it disappears into a tangle of other magic. He lets go and picks at the knot with as much disinterested concentration as he can muster. _Kinda surprised he doesn't have heart issues..._

That thought alone sours his stomach. Reminds him of his dad, which in turn, reminds him of the Not-Ron in front of him. He grimaces and doubles down on trying to undo the barrier. Fuck Barry Oak. Fuck him to the thousandth degree.

TJ idly tries to undo this barrier with twice the force. Fuck this place. He wants to go home. He wants his dad back.

* * *

Nick is _seconds_ away from flipping this table and beating Barry Oak's face in, supposed inability to cause damage be _damned_. This asshole has the fucking audacity to take his fucking dad and suck the fucking life out of him? Make him this-this knockoff bastardized version of Glenn Close?! Fucking crusty-ass shit. _Bastard._

"You enjoying the food?" Not-Glenn asks. Nick pushes his meal—can this sad fucking raw vegan bullshit even be _considered_ a meal?!—around on his wooden plate with a wooden fork.

"It's fucking _animal feed_ , dad. What are you, some kind of food cop?" Nick snaps. While there's no lull in the conversation Henry and Barry are having—Teej Messaged everyone, saying he was going to distract him while they pooled resources to break the boundary on Oakvale—he can see Not-Glenn's body stiffen in a manner far too similar to Bastard Oak.

" _Rude_ ," he scoffs, "the people of Oakvale worked _hard_ to put together this meal. Even let us join in, though it was meant for Bar and Hen—"

"His name is _Henry_ ," Nick cuts in. The sour feeling of disgust and dysphoria curls in his chest.

He was lucky enough to have not had to deal with the whole transphobia thing from his dad and the folks at school—money talks and Glenn Close has money _and_ a penchant for starting riots and being a stubborn piece of shit—but even if the situation isn't _exactly_ the same with regards to Henry, the idea is similar enough to make his skin itch. He curls his hands into fists, fork sitting next to his plate, the wood splintered a bit.

" _His **name** is **Henry** ,_" he repeats before Not-Glenn tries to talk again. Then he shoves a carrot in his mouth with his fingers so Not-Glenn won't harp on eating.

 _Fucking **hurry up** , Teej,_ he thinks, knowing the other boy can't hear him. _I **really** wanna hit him._

* * *

Grant has seen a _lot_ of shit. Like _a lot_ a lot of shit. But _nothing_ could prepare him for seeing his dad looking content, feet away from _the man who helped kidnap them_. He hasn't ever experienced the same rage his dad utilizes in combat, but he's certain the shaking of his hands and the way he has to school his breathing back to normal is close enough for him. How does he handle keeping a lid on this all the time? Maybe that's why he was so reluctant to get into battle around him. Grant feels like he was inches away from wrapping his hands around Barry Oak's spindly neck and choking the life out of the elven asshole.

"You look concerned," Not-Darryl says, tilting his head to the side in a very Oakvale way. "Is everything alright, kiddo?"

Grant smiles—it's more like he's baring his teeth, but potato _tomato_ —and shakes his head, stabbing a snap-pea on his wooden fork. It tries to skitter away but the tines on their homemade utensils are wide enough that he catches it and pops the thing in his mouth. It tastes good, which sucks. He's looking for something to be angry about at this point. " _Nope_. Just thinking."

"What about?" Fuck. _Fuck_. For all he wants to hear his dad ask him about his feelings, this was _not_ the fucking time.

" _Stuff_."

"You know you can talk to me, _right_? I know I haven't been the most accessible or emotionally available, but Bar Ri'Oak has shown me the error of my ways. I'm going to be _better_." _God_ , he sounds so sincere. He _believes_ what he's saying.

Grant's mouth waters, the precursor to bile.

 _Go time is soon._ Grant snaps his gaze to TJ, who nods slowly.

 _Head near my weapon or stick it here?_ He Messages back.

TJ shakes his head and ducks his chin at Darryl. _You might wanna..._

Right. Coz as soon as whatever fuckery preventing injury here ends, their dads will _probably_ become the enemy. That _and_ everyone in Oakvale, though Henry doesn't seem bothered by the thought of being outnumbered. _And the Ri'Oaks?_

TJ's nose wrinkles as he Messages someone else. Then Grant hears, _They don't know how to fight. Henry was the **exception** to the rule._

 _Good._ Grant starts jamming food into his mouth. He needs the calories. This is gonna be a long one. Above the ruckus in his head—screaming angry thoughts about any and everything going on—he can hear Not-Darryl still talking about his failings as a father and Grant bites down on his words. Reminds himself that this is only a shade of his dad.

Therapy time later. He has to kill time. He can do this. _He can do this._

He takes a deep breath and waits.

* * *

Paeden is scared. Well, okay, _scared_ is an understatement. Paeden is unsettled and terrified and _angry_. But they have a Plan. A Plan that Henry helped make, kindasorta. A Plan that has Henry talking to Barry for a long time to keep him busy. A Plan that has TJ doing magic shit without being noticed. A Plan that has Grant and Nick playing offense. A Plan that has Lark and Sparrow planning to be a nuisance. A Plan that means, when shit pops the fuck off, he has to be ready to mete out the heals.

A Plan that requires him to currently concentrate on keeping the buffs up.

Will Barry notice Henry is doing better in this conversation with him? Can he smell the magic on TJ? Does he notice how quiet Lark and Sparrow are being? How intense Paeden is staring at his "food"?

Does he notice? _Does he notice? **Does he notice?!**_

Paeden is pulled from his panic spiral from a soft noise. Ron—not good Ron, the Ron Paeden is _mildly_ fond of, the _weird_ Ron, but this awful Oakvale Ron that is just so...boring and smiles and _eugh_ —is at Paeden's elbow, asking him a question. The ringing of Hephaestus's Forge is almost _deafening_ —you'd think he'd have it on lock after a year and some, that concentration spells would be easier to maintain but _noooooo_ , Clerics are a Wisdom thing and being a dad in a child's body with no memory of being said dad _apparently_ means your Wisdom is shit and a half—but he can make out a few words.

"Food...Barry...gift...home..."

He gives Not-Ron a smile—eyes of the tiger, _teeth_ of the tiger too! Even _if_ the ones he lost ages ago never came in and he was never gonna get taller, Paeden is a fierce lil beast—and shakes his head. Not-Ron asks another question or says something _or_...

"Tired...shade...water...home..."

 _Again_ with the "home" thing? What _was_ he on about? Paeden tilts his head and grimaces. "No thanks," he says. Or he _thinks_ he says. Everyone is looking at him. He freezes. _Fuck_ , is he yelling?

In his head he hears TJ, _Scramble the jets._

It's _go_ time.

* * *

TJ sends a group Message out as he grabs the final threads of the barrier around Oakvale and _pulls_. The magic—the protection, the boundary, the enforcement of Barry's own enchantments—peels apart like an orange and Barry's ears shoot upward. The Oak patriarch makes eye contact with TJ, who winks and shows him the residual magic on his fingers with a very jaunty and very rude hand gesture. _Nick_ , he Messages, using his spare energy to call out, _get our shit._

 ** _Gotcha._ **He disappears into the shadows, a haze of nothingness.

" _Well_ ," Barry says, the veneer of calm slipping slightly, "are you _proud_ of yourselves? That was a lot of work by a lot of people, you know."

" _Get bent_ , old man," it's been a while since he's been that awful to someone, but he's feeling spiteful and it helps buy Nick some extra time. Plus, all things considered, he's allowed to be spiteful at times like this. Feels good, if he's being honest.

"You know, _Terrence_ , I think you and your father could use some quality time. You _obviously_ have some unresolved anger issues that you could work out." His smile—and _fuck_ , TJ is ready for one if not _all_ of them to beat his fucking teeth in—is thin but the slightest hint of elven fangs flashes as he talks. It's a reminder that he's not an herbivore; he's a pursuit predator. Every elf is, even if the Oakvale ones like to pretend they're domesticated housecats.

"You know, _Barold_ ," Lark says, just to Barry's left, " _I_ think you and _your mom_ could do with a heart-to-heart as well, you fucking cult leader." Without warning, his blade strikes into Barry's arm—risen upward to block against a blow meant for his _heart_ —and a spray of blood coats Lark's cheek in bright red.

Barry stares at the wound, at the knife, then at Lark. The world seems to narrow down to just them for a moment—the other Oakvale elves almost disappearing into the backdrop—and then Barry laughs.

" _Okay_ ," he says, "if _that's_ how you want it? Perhaps your fathers should discipline you? After all, you're being _quite_ **_Rude_**."

Henry stiffens, ears stock still and slanted downward. His whole body shakes, his breathing ragged. And, just as he—and the awful Oakvale versions of their dads—stand up to face the boys, Nick throws them all their weapons and foci. TJ doesn't bother fastening his grimoire to his belt, just tucking it under his arm, staff extended outward in warning.

"I'm _sorry_ ," Henry chokes out as the Geas compels him to obey his father.

" _God **fucking** dammit,_" Sparrow hisses as combat begins. Go time indeed.


	4. Puppet Loosely Strung (Nick, Grant, TJ, Paeden, Henry)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DND Fact of the Chapter: Spells that provide temporary HP like Aid and False Life stack on top of the Abjuration Wizard's Warding Bond, which is considered an entirely different thing from temp HP. It's why, when building a wizard, if Abjuration looks your speed, take temp HP spells! Its a fun way to make a lv3 wizard a little more tanky!
> 
> _"They read your smiles as nothing but teeth. Looked at you with pity first, then disbelief."_
> 
> (Title by the Correspondents)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: canon-typical combat violence, attempted magical coercion, brainwashing, implied amputation, emotional manipulation, minor body horror

When Bastard Oak gives the order, Not-Glenn snaps into action. While Glenn often moved in fluid waves—Nick always used to joke about him being drunk in all forms but physical—this strange Oakvale fucked up Glenn moved in direct lines. The shortest path to Nick. To whatever his goal might be.

 _Real_ fucking pity that Nick was faster than him, stronger than him, smarter than him, and _also_ took the effort to rearm his friends.

Dancing just out of his reach, Nick flips Not-Glenn off with one hand, the other holding tight to his quarterstaff. " _C'mon_ , old man, fucking make this harder! If you're gonna get your brain scrambled by some crunchy codger with a stick up his ass, may as well make it _fun_!"

"You're being _incredibly_ ungrateful," Not-Glenn calls out. Nick can't see his guitar on him—a wave of angry panic steals the feeling from his fingers; that fucking guitar belonged to his _mom_ once—but he seems feisty enough, even if it's only by Oakvale standards. "Bar invited you and your friends in, fed you, and you break the very thing that keeps us safe?"

" _Yeah_ , so?" Nick vaults over Not-Glenn and rolls into a quick sprint that takes him up into one of Oakvale's shitty clone trees. "Are you gonna _make me_ apologize?"

" **Get down here and apologize to Bar** ," the magic pulls at Nick for a moment. _How the_ _fuck_ this tissue paper abomination manages to cast without an instrument is frustrating as fuck, but Suggestion worms its way into his head for half a second.

 _Unlucky_ for Not-Glenn, Nick is fucking stubborn as hell. Instead of obeying, he simply slams the base of his quarterstaff into Not-Glenn's sternum, stunning him into silence.

" _Make me_ ," Nick taunts and sweeps Not-Glenn off his feet and onto his ass. " _You're_ not my _real_ dad!"

Thankfully for _Nick_ , Not-Glenn is stupid and bullheaded and _fucking stupid_ and slow and _just so fucking stupid_.

After the Stunning Strike wears off, Not-Glenn stands back up—again, with uncanny rigidity, not fluid like Glenn _usually_ is, but in the way that expends the least amount of energy—and cracks his neck. " _Man_ ," he says in Glenn's voice, smiling Glenn's smile, putting Glenn's hand on Glenn's hip, "sure do have a quick hand huh? _Just_ like your old man." It sets Nick's hair on edge.

"The only time _you've_ ever had a quick hand is at a bar," Nick snaps. Not-Glenn has the audacity to look hurt with Glenn's face.

" _Fuck_ , kid, you need to **calm down**." _Again_ , the spell splashes against Nick but, unlike with Suggest, Calm Emotions catches and washes over him and Nick feels every ounce of negative emotion sink to his feet and slough off his skin. " _There now_ , it's gonna be _alright_."

The emptiness that follows is more dangerous than the anger. Is this what _Grant_ feels? This...hollowness that follows a good crying jag, but _all the time_? _God_ , it just _amplifies_ what he's _supposed_ to be feeling. Nick clenches his fist around his staff and then, in a moment of calculated and icy fury—fury so far away he can only remember the _feeling_ of fury—tosses it to the side.

Not-Glenn smiles, cocksure, with Glenn's fucking mouth, and holds out his hand. " _There's_ my dude. _C'mere_." He expects him to come rushing to him like when he was little.

He expects him to just keep running back, after all this time.

Nick's fist connects with Not-Glenn's smug fucking Glenn face.

* * *

Not-Darryl doesn't have a weapon. This is the _only_ thing that Grant thinks is good about this situation. Everything else about it sucks _hot shit_.

As soon as Teej pulls the barrier down and Nick throws him his sword, Grant reaches into the potential and grabs an Echo to help him. As it flickers into existence, he winces. _Fuck_. Another one of _those_.

This Echo is down an arm and his face is angry. The sword he wields is long and crooked and light, his armor is covered in heavy gouges, and he moves in short bursts by leaping from place to place. It's a Grant that leaned _too_ far into combat and didn't have the rest of the sons to help him cope. Those always made him feel a little nauseous to inhabit, their wisping anger sinking into his chest, only coming free after a long talk, like soap and hot water takes oil off of skin. Effort. They _linger_.

 _Whatever_. He doesn't have _time_ to worry about what possible alternate life he's recruiting to assist him in a battle against his dad. He just has to knock his dad unconcious and-or convince him that Barry Oak is a dumbfuck piece of elven hippie shit. _Both_ would be preferable.

As Grant calls his Echo, Not-Darryl tenses up and goes into a rage, the spectral versions of his ancestors flickering into view. It's dumb but...the fact that they haven't changed instills a _little_ bit of hope in him. _Somewhere_ , buried under a fuckton of magic and dumbfuckery, is _his dad_. All he has to do is reach him.

Grant swings wide, connecting with Not-Darryl's arm, the flat of the blade resonating up his own arm. He grits his teeth and swings again, making contact the second time as well. _This_ time he feels the blade sink into the meat and there's a brief panic before he remembers that his dad—barbarians in general—can actually stave off a _lot_ of the damage from standard attacks. He draws his blade back, adjusts his stance for when Not-Darryl eventually retaliates, and has his Echo strike at his back.

The way his Echo lunges is frantic, a jump and thrust as if hes trying to spear a boar and not his father. Kill it before it hurts him

 _Yuck_. He always _hates_ Echoes like that.

Not-Darryl takes the hit, sidesteps Grant's sword, and grabs him around the waist in a bear hug. He struggles, of course, but he's not _quite_ as strong as his dad, so he can only go limp to minimize the damage from whatever is going to happen next.

"I don't _understand_ ," Not-Darryl growls in Grant's ear, "what you _want_ of me? I'm _trying_. Isn't that good enough?"

 _Oh?_ He wants to talk? Grant wards his Echo off, tells it to wait, and indulges Not-Darryl for a moment.

"Trying is _fine_ ," he says, using every bit of air he can greedily take in while trapped in a patented Darryl Bear Hug, "but _whatever_ this is is _performative_. You're not doing it because _you want to_ or because you _genuinely_ believe it; you're doing it because someone _told_ you it would work."

"What's wrong with asking for guidance?"

" _Nothing!_ "

"Then _what am I doing wrong_?! How can I _be_ _better_?!" The desperation is Darryl. Even if Barry has smothered them in enchantment magic until they're _barely_ people, there's still their fathers in there somewhere.

"Maybe think for yourself for once? Ask me what's wrong because _you care_? Listen when I talk about it? Try and get on my level? Treat me like a person?" _Yanno_ , he said therapy time could be later, but now is a _great_ time to yell at his dad about emotional shit. It feels good, if Grant's gonna be honest.

"I _do_ treat you like a person—"

"You treat me like a _child_!" Grant cuts him off. "And I _am_ a child but I am _also_ a fucking _person_ , dad. And I _just_ want you to fucking _see_ that."

Something in Not-Darryl's posture changes, his grip relaxing, and Grant has enough space to wiggle around so he's facing him instead of with his back to his chest. He's crying openly, his Guardians flickering and losing form.

"Dad, I'm _scared_. I'm scared _all the time_ right now and it _sucks_ and what's _worse_ , if we can't get you guys to stop or snap out of this, we may have to _hurt_ you and...I've already lost you once. I don't wanna do it again." Behind Not-Darryl, Grant's Echo loses its form and just starts wisping out into shadows and the concept of time " _Please_."

Darryl crumples, his grapple loosening and Grant throws his arms around his dad and prays it is enough.

* * *

TJ has kept Not-Ron held in place for several minutes now. He isn't certain exactly what the fuck his deal is, but it's strange, even by Ron-standards. " _Why_ aren't you fighting? Weren't you told to _discipline me_?!" He can't help the panic that cracks his voice. He's scared. Things have gone _so_ poorly _so_ quickly that he's having trouble planning. It's so much easier to make plans in advance. On-the-fly shit is when he locks up and panics.

The warmth of Paeden's magic settles on his skin and he takes a breath, centers himself, thinks about what mom would say.

"Because I don't _want_ to." Not-Ron says, softly. His voice is barely audible over the sound of Nick and Not-Glenn going at it, but it drains the heat out of his skin. Maybe the shock shows on his face, because Not-Ron continues. "I'm _not_ your father. I don't have the _right_ to discipline you. And even if I _did_ , I _wouldn't_. I don't have the frame of reference for what would be good or useful. And it's not like I can call Samantha for help. _She_ would know better than I do."

"So you're just gonna take this from me? From _him_? Watch as we have to struggle just to get our lives back in order and then slide in like nothing changed?!" It's hard to tell the source or direction of this anger. Part of him is mad at Barry, another at Ron, and the rest is _just mad_. "Are you _so fucking passive_ that you're gonna let this shit slide?!"

"What _else_ can I do?" Ron—because he wasn't being mind controlled, it him the whole time—tilts his head, the barest push against Hold Person, "You don't _really_ want me. None of the others care about me. If I don't come back, Samantha still has _you_. I'm a non-entity."

" _THIS ISN'T ABOUT YOU!_ " _Oh_. There, the base of his frustrations. "Yes it _sucks_ and yes you _can_ be strange and hard to be around but right now? Right now this is about _all of us._ So fucking _step up_ , dad!" _God_ it feels cheesy to say, but it's true.

Ron stares at him and, like always, TJ isn't certain what he's thinking. Then he nods his head. " _Okay_." And TJ lets go.

* * *

Paeden drops Bless as soon as he's able and Aid bolsters every one of the combatants. As Grant squares off against Not-Darryl—a one-armed Echo flickering into existence next to him—and Nick stuns Not-Glenn with a strike with the butt of his staff, TJ casts a quick Hold Person on Not-Ron and Sparrow shoots an Ensnaring Strike at Henry's feet and pins him. There's _so much_ going on at this moment that it's hard for Paeden to keep focus on any one part of the battle, especially with Hephaestus's Forge clamoring in his head. _Damn_ him and his inability to hold concentration for too long. It's less loud because Aid isn't concentration, but the tinnitus from holding Bless for longer than it's meant to lingers and he needs a moment to clear his head.

"You know," he hears Barry say, calm and slow, "I can see _why_ poor Hen had such a problem dealing with you and your brother. If your first instinct when threatened is to attack, you'll never be any better than you are now." Paeden can see magic creep up his neck, turning his skin to wood where Lark's soulbound blade bites into him. "You lashing out at any authority figure that seeks to help you will only hurt you in the long-run."

"I'll hurt _you_ in the long-run!" Lark shrieks.

 _He's right_ , Paeden thinks idly. And then, almost as if the thought crosses his mind seconds later, he holds his hand out and casts Shield of Faith on Lark. _Just in case. Gotta keep my boys safe._ He nods to himself, the ring of the Forge starting back up.

"This is _wholly unnecessary_ ," Barry says idly, swiping at Lark with talons dripping acid. He strikes the Shield of Faith and draws back, his ears pinning back and his eyes flicking to focus on Paeden, who grins and wiggles his fingers at him. "Though I _must_ say your teamwork is at least something to be admired."

"Hey _Barry_ ," Lark hisses, "You _still_ haven't really been paying attention to what I'm saying. _Your mom wants to talk to you_." Then there is a blinding flash of light.

* * *

Henry is fighting. He's fighting his own mind, his father's control over him, and also Sparrow. None of these fights are new. He's been fighting them for as long as he's been alive. Save the last one, that one is new-ish. In _this_ context anyway.

The Geas shifted when the barrier fell. When Barry said the children were being Rude, he took the last vestiges of the failing ward and turned it inward, to warp the Geas that tore and ravaged at Henry's body. Stood him up like a puppet and pointed him at his sons and their friends. This was harder to disobey than the other commands. This one demanded he move and act as if they were the enemy. Don't kill, but _punish_. Internally, Henry is _screaming_.

The Hen part of Henry's brain is howling as well. _I should have been Good. I should have Obeyed!_ But Henry can easily take that thought and change it.

 _Even if I **was** Good,_ _he would have found some fault in my method. Even if I Obeyed, it wouldn't have been enough_. Barry Oak is a selfish man and he will _never_ be satisfied with what he has.

Henry raises his hand and casts Hold Person, knowing _full well_ Sparrow is set to avoid spells like this. From his Dreams as Hen, he remembers Sparrow angrily talking about people not respecting his mental autonomy. How he's worked to prevent that from _ever_ happening again. So Henry hedges his bets and tries to take his mind from him and still his body. Not _hurting_ , no, _never_ hurting, but if he can stall.

He's trusting Sparrow to be able to throw off his magic like it's nothing. He's trusting Lark to be able to occupy Barry. He's putting _a lot_ of trust in his boys.

The spell slides off of Sparrow and Henry stiffens as he looks at him with fury in his gaze. "I'm _sorry_ ," Henry says again, a broken record.

 _You're **always** like this, apologizing. A broken record, a breaking skipping track on something **no one** even listens to any more._ The Geas loosens for the apology but does not let go of his limbs. He struggles under the wires.

" _I don't care!_ " Sparrow says. It sounds like it's meant for him but...there is the small part of Henry that hopes that he's talking to Barry or acknowledging that this isn't his choice. It's neither of their choices. Sparrow nocks an arrow back and looses it. It pins into the grown at Henry's feet and the Ensnaring Strike blossoms into the black and red roses that he used before, catching him and holding him in place. They tear at his legs and he can feel his sweat enter the millions of tiny scrapes up and down them, but the pain is grounding. _Sparrow isn't trying to hurt him._

Now that he has a moment, Henry looks around and sees the other boys dealing with the Oakvale versions of their dads. Nick shrugs off a Suggestion and stuns Glenn, tripping him. Darryl and Grant are locked in a grapple but it looks like Darryl is shaking, his shoulders tense, while the flickering image of someone that looks like Grant but with one arm just stands by and watches. Terry Junior points his staff at Ron and the poor man freezes in place, his owlish eyes wide and confused. Paeden seems focused on everyone at once. This is good, he thinks. We might win this. The Geas lances pain behind his eyes as punishment but he doesn't care.

There is a bright flash of light and then a billion flickering shadows all at once. It's like a camera bulb going off, stretching everyone's form wide and across the horizon. As his vision comes back to him, Henry's breath catches in his chest— _naturally_ , like it's supposed to, not like the Geas took it—with a mixture of awe and terror.

Standing next to Lark, between him and Barry, is a woman made of starlight. She looks like a film negative, her colors inverted, and from her wrists bleed bright ribbons of cosmic light, an aurora borealis located directly on her person. Around her neck is a large, clunky camera, and her mouth is set in a thin grimace. She leans close to Barry, who is scrabbling to get away from her, his ears pinned back and his pupils wide in a terror Henry has never seen him exhibit. The woman says, in a voice that Henry can feel in his blood. **Barry Oak, you stop that shit _right now._**

Lark, standing to the side of the apparition, is grinning like he won the lottery. " _Like I said_ ," he enunciates each word like it's a weapon strike against Barry, " _your mom_ wants to fucking talk to you."

The battle still rages just out of reach of Barry and the others. Grant seems to have reached Darryl, who is sobbing in his arms. Terry Junior is gesturing furiously at Ron, who just is blinking at him like he's watching some kind of film late at night, the contrast between the darkness of the theater and the brightness of the screen staggering. Nick and Glenn are having some kind of bold screaming match. None of the others seem to be able to see the woman Lark introduces as Barry's mother. Henry's grandmother. The twins' great-grandmother. Hildy.

Aside from the Oak family—Henry, Lark, Sparrow, Barry—only _Paeden_ seems capable of perceiving her, and he's too busy keeping the battle running smoothly to comment, but his brow pinches in mild worry.

" _Oh_ ," Sparrow hums, bow still in hand, eyes still warily glancing at Henry, as if he expects him to try and free himself from the Entanglement. " _That's_ what she looks like."

"Father, brother, _Barry_ , meet Hildy Russet, who has been _so kindly_ providing me with magic during my tenure here in the Forgotten Realms." Lark is talking through his teeth, bared in the barest imitation of a smile. "And _our_ great-grandmother. Say _hi_ to your mom, Barry, you're being _Rude_." The way he accents the word Rude is so dripping with insincerity that Henry can taste it.

The Geas pulls his limbs, fills his head and heart with panic and adrenaline, tells him **move move run save him protect him do what you were made to do**. It _hurts_ to resist the call but Henry grits his teeth and stands stock still. Doesn't struggle against his bonds. He starts to lose feeling in his fingers and a pain builds up behind his eyes. _It's fine. It's fine. **It's fine**. It's **nothing** I haven't dealt with before._ The Geas pulls tighter. He's lying to himself. It's excruciating. _He feels sick_.

"You're supposed to be _lost_ ," Barry gasps out. He isn't moving— _none_ of them are, but it's _so strange_ to see him frozen in fear—but he looks like a frightened rabbit. This is the first time Henry has ever seen his father scared. It's not as cathartic as he would like.

 **I am. I'm also _not_.** Hildy smiles and her mouth leaves her face in ribbons of unknowable geometry, spinning and spiraling out into nothingness. Henry looks away, blinks a few times, and looks back. **But _you_ , on the other hand, have been leading people astray. Taking them and taking all that makes them good and just...scraping it away until they're blank slates for you to print on. That's _real shitty_ of you, teddy-bear, and I'm _very disappointed_ in you.**


	5. Unperson (Paeden, Nick, TJ)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DND Fact of the Chapter: there are several creatures that deal with the danger of knowing something, but none of them are as fun as the allip. Created when someone discovers cursed information, the information literally destroys the body of the person, and what remains is a shadowy undead thing of sheer knowing: the allip itself. Then, the wretched thing tries to share what it knows in some echo of an attempt to alleviate its pain. It can cause friends to turn against each other, stun them with a scream, and every attack deals damage to one's psyche. It can only pass on peacefully by inciting someone else to write down its secret for the next poor soul to find, leaving the unwitting scribe without the memory of the transcription and the cursed information back into the world. This isn't relevant to the chapter, I just think they're neat.
> 
> _"You are the grand designer. Revel in our unrest."_
> 
> (Title by Nothing but Thieves)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: brainwashing, emotional manipulation, magical coercion, descriptive violence, discussions about child neglect, mentions of drug abuse

Paeden's nose is bleeding. _S'weird._ He isn't fond of that. _But... **but...**_

Shield of Faith on Lark. Lark standing next to that weird lady who is like a void in the space next to Lark but in front of Barry. The weird lady who Lark says her name is Hildy Russet but whose weird hurty colors that he doesn't have names for makes his head throband whose voice that rings with a thousand screams says words and also _not_.

 **I don't know what you're thinking, hurting your boy and his birds like that, but you're dancing a _fine line_ , teddy-bear,** she says.

(Behind what she says is screams and madness and the stars _the stars **the stars the stars**_—the ringing of the Forge drowns out her echoes.)

Barry Oak sneers, gathering his cloak of kind father tighter around his shoulders. "I have never _once_ hurt Hen, or either of the boys, _have I?_ " The question is directed at Henry, who flinches. He's still trapped in the roses, but as Barry stands back up to his full height and gestures for Henry to join him, come to his side, Henry easily frees himself. " _Come_ , Hen, and tell her of what all I've done."

Henry could have escaped Sparrow's Ensnaring Strike at any point, he just chose being trapped over being next to his father. Paeden watches as he walks towards Barry, whose shit-eating grin makes Paeden's little fists shake. But before Henry can move any closer to him, get within melee distance, Hildy's arm shoots out to stop him.

(It pulls and tears and drags _and drags_ the reels and love to paint and **_picture_** —the light of the Forge burns the images free of his head.)

 _ **No.**_ Sharp. A whipcrack. Drowning _drowning **drowning.**_

There's blood trickling down Paeden's chin. He wipes it away with the back of his hand. Some of it is black, bereft of color. _Weird..._

 **You don't have to join him** , she warns, and he halts. How can he not?

"Father has not hurt me _on purpose._ He has only ever punished me when he considered what I did _wrong_. Unfortunately for myself, I can do nothing _right_." With every word, it looks like pain is building behind Henry's eyes. His voice chokes up and he seems to find each syllable dragging and weighted, as if his tongue refuses to cooperate. He keeps flexing his fingers like he's trying to get feeling back into them. His blinking is asymmetrical. Paeden is _acutely_ aware of how weird Henry's breathing is. "While I don't know what Lark and Sparrow experienced while in his and the others' so-called care, they weren't fed for several days before we rescued them from Ravenloft. After _that_ point, while they never outright _said_ anything, there continued to be a cloud of oppression that hung over them, like any person who ever encountered my father and spent time with him only to escape intact often carried."

Barry's smug face slides into that same animalistic fury that Ron described having seen when Hen escaped. " _You—_ "

"I have...not _lied_ , have I?" Henry asks, labored. Barry's ears are pinned but Henry's are relaxed and calm. "So...why am I...being _punished_? I'm not being...Rude...you can't keep...moving the goalposts like...this."

_**Enough!** _

(Head splitting, cracking, _smashing_ , and there is no relief from the feeling of teeth around his skin _the bone **the flesh**_ —the warm heat of the Forge cleanses the feeling from his core.)

 **I think I've heard enough. Out of _all_ of you,** the woman-shaped void says, each word slow and low and layered beneath with something Paeden cannot focus on or he _will_ die, he is _certain_ of this. **Barry, you and I are going to have a little talk. Be back in two shakes of a tail feather, okay, birdies?** And the world cracks open into colors that burn every sense except for sight and _beyond_ that crack is something unimaginable and terrifying and somehow _worse_ than Willy Stampler.

Paeden would rather kiss Willy's feet and beg him for forgiveness than get near that woman and _whatever_ is behind that crack.

But both the woman and the crack swallow Barry Oak whole and everything is _achingly_ silent.

Paeden wipes his nose. His hand comes away soaked in blood, dribbling down his fingers. He sniffles. "I... _hate_ this..."

Sparrow looks at where they went, his face pulling into a strange pensive frown. " _Yeah..._ "

"Now we wait," Lark says, low and terse.

Behind them, Henry continues to shift in place, his breathing ragged, flexing his hands every couple seconds. He looks pensive but not too much so.

Paeden wonders how much longer he can hold on.

* * *

The first blow Nick lands on Not-Glenn _would_ feel cathartic if he could feel anything. But he _can't_. So it _doesn't_. It feels like fists hitting face. It's a pretty simple feeling. So he swings again. And then he swings two more times.

It's at _that_ point that Not-Glenn's concentration on Calm Emotions drops and the anger floods Nick's system again. Like priming an engine, the white hot fury chases every bit of the icy nothing away until he can hear the blood screaming through his body. It is euphoric, almost. Nick lets out a triumphant scream.

Not-Glenn shoves Nick off him and rolls away, dusting off his weird white Oakvale bullshit outfit, looking confused and a little emotionally hurt. Also a lot _physically_ hurt. Large splatters of blood coat the front of same bullshit Oakvale purity complex potato sack shirt and he's nursing a split lip, looking a bit surly.

"Okay, dude, _what the fuck?_ " Not-Glenn asks in his Glenn-est voice. " _Really?!_ I thought—"

" _Nope!_ " Nick strikes again. A quick jab into Not-Glenn's jaw. He takes the hit and swings back.

(His form is sloppy. He's got his thumb tucked in the fist. He telegraphs the whole swing. Nick is mildly irritated.)

"You _don't_ get to do this." Nick swings two more times. One glances off of his arm—thrown up to knock the blow away—while the other gets him in the gut again.

"What did I even _do_?" Not-Glenn asks. Nick grits his teeth and steps sideways to take a couple more swings.

"What _did_ you do? That's a _great_ question?" Not-Glenn manages to land a couple of blows but it's not going to stop him. "It's not like you were _home_! You didn't come to school meetings! You never _once_ asked me what _I_ liked! So what _did_ you do, Glenn?" Not dad. Not now, when he's feeling so much. No, he hasn't earned that back yet. Or _ever_. Who fucking knows.

"I thought we were _cool_!" How much of Not-Glenn is actually Glenn? How much of it is Bastard Oak doing fucky shit with Glenn's brain? The world may never know.

" _Yeah_ , yanno, we probably _were_ when I was little? But _hey_ , I got older, and I found out not _everyone_ is _buds_ with their dad!" They continue to trade blows. Not-Glenn exhibits what Nick can assume is Glenn's mosh pit and bar brawl skills. Once he realizes it's no-holds-barred, he got his shit in gear. _Good_. Kicking the shit out of him when he wasn't fighting back wouldn't feel as rewarding. Now at least it feels like he's working toward something.

"They _should_ be!" Not-Glenn argues.

" _No they fucking **shouldn't**!_" Nick shoots back. "They should be able to go to their dad with their fucking problems." A jab into Not-Glenn's sternum. "Talk about _whatever_ they're into without their dad _making it about **him**._" Another quick jab into Not-Glenn's sternum. "See him _sober_ more than _not_. Even if it _was_ only weed." The next few strikes miss and Not-Glenn lands a few solid hits on Nick. "And know they can come to him with their problems without being told that ' _shit will pass, my dude_ '!"

"Would you rather I not have been there at all? Or should I have thrown _everything_ away and made _you_ my life?!" Not-Glenn asks, the cool dripping out of him like blood down his nose, his lip, his eyebrow. It feels nice to get a rise out of him.

" _You had a kid!_ You didn't _have_ to throw everything away but you could have fucking been _around_! More than you _were_ at least! Mom fucking died and _you ran!_ " Fuck fucking fuck. "Do I look _so_ much like her that you couldn't stand to be around me?!"

" _Don't you **dare**!_" Not-Glenn howls. Neither of them are moving now, standing around to yell at each other. Doesn't matter. They're in their own damn little world. Catharsis. _Catharsis._

"So, _what_ , am I supposed to just be grateful you just _existed_?" Nick wipes the blood from his chin and spits on the ground. It's pink. _Yuck._ Blood spit. Split lip _and_ he bit his tongue. "Be happy you came by every so often? That you weren't like your own deadbeat dad? _Whoop-de-doo_ , Glenn Close, one step up from _Bill Close_. Congrats to his son, Nick, for having the ghost of a dad haunt his home!"

" _Low_ fucking _blow_ , Nicholas!" Not-Glenn—or maybe it's _just_ Glenn at this point, not that it fucking matters—shrieks. Good. _Good._ Get a fucking rise out of him. That's _something_.

"That's the whole goddamn _point_!" Nick is on a fucking roll and, for all he's feeling shitty about it, it feels... _good_ to just say this shit out loud. TJ was on to something with the whole therapy thing. Maybe when they get back... "You won't _listen_ if it doesn't boost your fragile ego or hurt your goddamn feelings! And _I'm not feeling charitable right now!_ So maybe _listen_ to me for once!"

"I _am_ listening!"

"You're _hearing_ me but you aren't fucking listening you crusty-ass piece of shit!"

"What's the difference?"

" _Fuck if **I** know!_" Is he saying shit to say shit? _Yes_. Does it mean he doesn't mean it? _Nope_. "But if you would just genuinely fucking just sit your flat ass down and give _half_ a shit about me, then _maybe_ it wouldn't have come to me beating your goddam ass with a fucking quarterstaff and also my fists!"

"My ass is plump as shit and _you know it_!" _Real_ fucking Glenn answer, there, Glennjamin.

"See, _this_ is why I can't fucking talk to you! _Everything_ is a fucking joke!"

" _Life_ is a joke!"

" _Why the fuck are you **like** this?!_"

" _I can't lose you too!_ " Glenn stops and slaps his hands over his mouth, eyes wide. "Why the fuck did I _say_ that? _Why the fuck did I say that?!_ "

In Nick's peripheral, Paeden grins and winks, the warmth of his magic curling from his fingers. _Dorkus._

"So, _what_ , I'm supposed to let you push me away because you're scared of getting attached and then losing me?"

" _No!_ But I can't—when _Morgan—!_ " Glenn's entire face goes on more of an emotional journey than Nick has ever experienced in his many years of being his son. It's almost pitiable.

"She's _gone_ and I'm all you have! You're all _I_ have! You can't fucking keep doing this!"

"And _then_ what? What do _I_ get out of this but heartbreak?"

"You get _me_! Am I not _enough_ for you?!"

The panicked hurt that flashes across Glenn's eyes stuns the world into silence. For Nick and Glenn, their world is each other. They are the only two people in this space.

"You get _me_. And _I_ get a dad. _You're all I have_. If you're not going to do this for _me_ , then fine. _Don't_ be my dad. But at least do it for _mom_. She would have wanted me to have _somebody_."

Glenn opens his mouth, closes it, and swallows hard. He can't seem to find anything else to say. _Good._

* * *

Ron is stealthy. TJ _knows_ this; he has seen this in action before. Still, there's a strange sense of pride and comfort that he feels in watching his dad slip through the undergrowth of Oakvale without so much as a sound, quietly checking up on the other boys and how they're doing in their fights against the brainwashed versions of _their_ fathers. While Nick and Glenn are bloodied and screaming, it seems like Darryl and Grant have reached some kind of breakthrough, and Lark and Sparrow seem to have paused their combat—Henry caught in an Ensnaring Strike, Barry staring in fear at Sparrow — and there's the shadow of _something_ there in front of them for a second. Something tall...spindly... _familiar?_

" _Terry?_ " Ron shakes him by the shoulder and TJ starts, hand tightening on his staff, his Ward crackling for a second before he settles back down. "Sorry to bother you—you looked really deep in thought and all—but I think it might be over? Or...Barry is _gone_ , anyway." He blinks up at TJ, who scans the battlefield, noting the distinct lack of actual fighting going on. Or, rather, Nick seems like he's the only one still in combat. Paeden is mopping up what looks like enough blood to constitute a broken nose from his chin. Grant is busy helping his dad up from the ground, both of them looking strangely worn out for people who didn't exchange actual blows. Lark and Sparrow are standing around, tense.

And even then, Nick is only yelling at Glenn. No more physical blows for them.

"Also, _uh_ , you've got a little..." Ron gestures at his face, just below his eyes. TJ wipes where he's indicating and his fingers come away spotted with blood. When did he get hurt?

" _Huh..._ " TJ says softly.

"Henry seems like he's in a bad way though," Ron adds. "Good job finding him, by the way. Very, _uh_ , proud of you."

"Thank you but...he came back on his own. We just followed him here."

" _Still_...I think you deserve to hear whenever I'm proud of you." _Fuck_ , his sincerity is saccharine. TJ just rolls his eyes.

" _Thanks_ dad. Now lets help the others."

" _Uh_ , advance warning?" TJ takes a moment to break stride on his way to Grant to look at him, confused. "Don't look at her too long. Or think about what you see or hear. Paeden has the right idea."

"What does that—?" He never gets to finish the question before there's a horrific, meaty tearing noise and Barry Oak returns to where he was before, looking haggard.

 _Fuck_. Not so easy after all, _huh_?


	6. The Mind Electric (Hildy)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DND Fact of the Chapter: the Elder Evils often are the same types of creatures that aboleths, starspawn, and ilithid worship but, more than that, they are inherently extraplanar and also most of them are just free floating in space. Hadar, of the "Hunger of" and "Arms of" fame, actually rests where a star used to be in the Faerûn cosmos, calling out psychically as it slowly creeps towards the nearest populated planet. But hey, they give you magic! ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> _"Think of these thoughts as limitless light, exposing closing circuitry of fright. Think of each moment holding this breath as death minute in decimal—"_
> 
> (Title by Miracle Musical)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: body horror, mental deterioration, references to violent deaths (ATMOD canon), discussions of manipulation and brainwashing
> 
> Spoilers for the end of ATMOD

Hildy had _little_ of what can constitute as personhood. Ever since the collapse of the Oak Ridge facility, ever since she had the _literal_ life torn out of her like spools and thread worn and weft across the pushing pulling imperfection of the universe, she was more the great unknowable thing that Stud had called the Doodler than she was _Hildy_. That can and probably did contribute to how Barry turned out. Though, to be _entirely_ fair, she didnt necessarily do much to Barry except show him pieces of _what could be_. He chose to take that idea and corrupt it into a mad scramble for power and control.

She was...holding on to _being Hildy_. Time was wild and ephemeral and flipping turning tearing through the wheels of a moviola and by the time that she knew _what_ time _was_ and where _up_ was and that _she_ was, she wasn't certain _where_ she was. It didn't matter, in the long run, but it was strange to suddenly be aware and confused all at once.

But _there_ , outside the reach of her consciousness—tendrils reaching out and up to caress the cheek the tip of the tongue the teeth the lips—is a wailing sound she identifies with a lurch. Crying. _A child._

_A crying child._

She pulled herself more together, shapes her in the form of Hildy—she _is_ Hildy, she is Hildy Russet of the San Dimas Defender, she is a _human being_ and _stronger_ than this drowning _pulling **tearing**_ —and staggered to the sound. Staggered to the crying child. Held her hands out to them—ignore the bleeding of what is what can be called the Doodler from her veins, still being spun into pain and _presence_ and **_pressure_** —with what she hoped was a kind smile. The child didn't notice her at first so she cleared her throat and they near jumped into the trees. Their ears— _oh_ they were like little doe ears or rabbit ears, lined with velvet down and expressive—were up and scanning for her location and their eyes were blown wide with fear.

**Don't be afraid** , she had to school her voice—groaning drowning meat and crushing _the call of stars_ and entropy—into _her voice_. It took effort but she managed to crush it into something that wouldn't _hurt_. **I won't hurt you.**

They didn't move, stock still, a pretty little fly caught in her pretty, pretty web of light and lies and _words_ and burning _bloody **madness**._

**My name is Hildy** , she continued, **you look sad. Can I help?** _Yes_. These were _empirical truths_. She was _Hildy_. She _wanted to help_. She was _helpful_. _Hildy_ was a _helpful person_.

They still didn't speak, terrified.

**Are you lost? So am I. It's been a while since I've _been_.** The weight to the verb was unnatural and Hildy drew back with a hum of frustration as blood oozed from their nose. She would have to be more careful going forward. They're so easy to break now. **Can you tell me where I am?**

"Y-you're near Oakvale," they say. They had a voice that reminded her of Winnie the Pooh, thoughtful and slow. If they spoke more, Hildy was certain they would say Important and Proper words. "I-in Faerûn. Northwest of the small town of Waterdeep."

**_Thank you_.** Hildy inclined her head and then corrected her stance—snapped like a ruler brought flat across knuckles or _a man bent in two between a pair of doors_ —to something more _human_. **Do you have a name?**

Their ears pinned back and Hildy had to bite back a soft laugh. They looked _so cute_ like that. Scared. Ready to run. Like a photograph waiting to happen. "N-none that _you_ can have." They were so polite too.

(The rumbling hunger of the unknown thing—known but unspoken, the Doodler, this _ancient_ thing—her chest that buries and bites deep into Hildy Russet and takes until it is all that remains is dissatisfied with the lack of names. With the lack of _control._ )

_**Clever**_ , she chose to say, instead of letting its anger seep into her voice. She didn't want to hurt him any more than she already had. **_Well_ teddy-bear, how about you show me the rest of Oakvale. Not certain how much longer _I_ might _be_ , so I may as well seize the day! Take some photos. Learn something. _Get a scoop_ , as one does.**

They looked at her, _confused_. It was honey, a smackerel just for her _for it **for them**_. She buried her smile down as a facial expression and bound her limbs to three dimensions. They took a moment and nodded. "I-if that's what _you_ want. I can show you Oakvale. And maybe our Holy Place?"

_There_. Important. She forced her smile into a facial expression. **I would love _nothing_ more, teddy-bear. Lead the way.** And he _did_.

* * *

Hildy Russet—and she _is_ Hildy again, she is _more_ Hildy than she has _ever_ been before—is Disappointed in Barry Oak. Or Bar Ri'Oak. _Whatever_ name he has decided is his. She is Disappointed in him and she hopes he can Feel it. She _also_ hopes that Lark—and his brother Sparrow and their father Henry and that poor boy who is _and is not_ a child—can tell she is not Disappointed in them. Her Disappointment hurts people in strange ways. _Breaks_ them. People are unfortunately _so_ fragile.

She used to be a people, once. Now she only plays pretend and plays house. It's enough for now.

As Lark pulls her from the Between, floods their pathway with his magic and pushes open the folds of planes and power, she steps forward so she is nose-to-nose with Barry and lets him Know how she feels. Then she grabs him and she takes him to Oak Ridge for a talk. Because this is _long_ overdue.

(Granular grating decisions the grit the skin of her palms and she grits her teeth tighter still until the porcelain and bone bear breaking down. Beneath her skin she wants to wait _to wade_ into the madness and take and tear the tempest free. But no. _No_. She is _better_ than that.)

Barry— _oh_ , the Barry she remembers is long gone, buried under a slick and clean smile and a veneer of kindness and that itself is worth _mourning_ —shifts in the lack of space of Oak Ridge—the Between, really, as Oak Ridge holds the most _the least **the loudest**_ of her skin and kin and _she_ , Hildy, is _Between_ —and schools himself back into _something_ akin to placidity. She is not fooled. She can see the tendrils and wafts of panic and fear lancing off him in sharp angles and whipcrack curves. It is honey and honeycomb to her and what is not her. She cannot change her nature and now it is helpful for seeing through his lies.

"So you're _not_ lost then?"

**I _am_.** It's not an answer and they _both_ know it. **You and I have some business to attend to, teddy-bear, and the first of it is that you've been getting a _little_ too big for your britches, don't you think?** She's being rhetorical. He knows this.

" _I_ think that I am within my right to discipline my son how I see fit." _Mmm_. He genuinely believes this. She has to fight the flickering flaking _fury_ that bubbles beneath her teeth.

**You _don't_ , but continue to sell me a bridge, bear, and while you're at it, I know you have some real estate on Mars for me too.**

His smile thins then disappears. His ears relax back into anxious frustration. "What do you even _want_? _Why them?_ "

**Same thing as last time, kiddo. I want you to _stop_. And why them?** Hildy shrugs, spiraling into nothing and nowhere. **Because _he asked_. They were the same as you, back then. _That_ called louder than _any_ blood ritual any weird little cultist might have performed in your weird little world. _Especially_ since most of me is still lost and, more than that, _buried_ underneath your barrier, Barry. Not very Nice of you, now, is it? Not very Kind. _Rather Rude._**

He flinches. "You were standing in the way of my progress."

**Taking people's autonomy isn't progress, kiddo. It's _fascism_.**

"And, _what_ , am I supposed to _let_ them just _make mistakes_?" Feral, just a little bit, some predator sneaks beneath the prey of Barry Oak. She understands why Lark likened him to a tiger or a stalking killer. He pretended to be less and waited until you lowered your guard. Then he has his teeth in your throat and you can't strike back.

(A hatch slammed. Footsteps fast. The body next to her collapsing into ooze and mud. She wails. Alone. _Alone. **Alone**._)

She lets herself unfurl a bit, take up more space in every dimension. She watches as his eyes flicker and he tries to focus. As blood seeps out of his mouth where he bit his tongue. Then he stops and stares at her. _At_ her. _Interesting_.

**Yes. You _are_. It's part of being a parent. You live and _let go_.** She condenses back and leans forward, fingers _tip tap_ _tapping_ a pattern on her knee. **Or you rot.**

"You get locked in a place you thought you'd escaped," he adds and this sends a lance of _human_ frustration through Hildy. She marvels at the feeling for a moment. " _Or_ you teach them to Obey and they never leave and you are safe forever."

**You're _not_ going to win,** she warns. **I didn't bring you here to _hurt_ you, just _talk_. And I'm telling you: _you're going to lose_.**

"What makes you so sure?" He snaps. The blood on his chin drifts off into words and wards of a place and time long since lost. "Can _you_ , the chaos of imperfection, know outcomes so well?"

**No**. He grins, smug, but she continues. **I trust in the chaos of angry children and _your rigidity._ The reed bows to the storm but the proud Oak is pushed to its destruction for it does not yield. You had a chance to stop when your bird left the nest the first time but you've gone a bit myopic. Get a better lens, bear, and pan out. You're missing the big picture.**

"Then I will take that into consideration during my victory." And that is that.

Hildy lets go. There's no point in holding him here any longer. In fact, she was only buying the boys a little more time to free their fathers from Barry's magic. Beyond that? All she can do is what she's been doing: giving Lark magic and cheering them on. _Yeah_ , she plays favorites. It's not hard to, after all.

Oak Ridge flickers and warps and Barry Oak is spat out on the ground in a heap. He wipes the blood from his chin and glares up at her as she steps back to stand next to Lark.

"Are we _done_ with this charade?" He asks, sharp and bitter. He pulls his Kindness over him like a cloak but it doesn't matter. They've all seen him without it.

"You gonna let us go?" Lark—her baby bird, fledgling, his knife in his hand—snarls. Barry's blank look is answer enough. "Then _no_."

" _So be it._ "


	7. Stuff is Way (Paeden)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DND Fact of the Chapter: Pact of the Blade Warlocks get a soulbound weapon—a weapon that is magically tied to them and cannot be taken, a weapon that acts as their focus and can be used to channel their spells—and more than that, they get Eldritch Smite. See, Eldritch Blast is one of the most versatile warlock cantrips—the main draw tbh, because you can just ruin someones day from almost 240ft away (out of counterspell range by a long mile, even an Extended counterspell) if you build your warlock right—and a Blade Warlock can add their Blast damage to a weapon attack, plus any additional Invocation modifications. Eldritch Smite + Agonizing Blast is horrifying and I will not apologize for it haha.
> 
> _"The stalking horse was hides the guy. In which the pony was a phoney and a lie."_
> 
> (Title by They Might Be Giants)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: victim blaming, canon typical combat violence

There is a strange type of _calmness_ that exists in combat. It is all that Paeden has known—which is _more than a little_ fucked up, once he stops to think about it, but that is neither here nor there—and he finds his mind the clearest in the six seconds he has to act before the bigger and-or _faster_ and-or **_smarter_ **person decks him. Bullet time, _baybee_ , it's how Paeden thinks best. So now, between fights, managing everyone's health and making sure those that need buffs, has buffs, he is thriving and vibing his most Paeden life.

As he drops Shield of Faith on Lark—Hildy took Barry off somewhere he's better off not thinking about and the twins and their dad are taking a moment to talk, though Henry is looking worse for wear with every passing second—and throws a Zone of Truth down on Glenn to help Nick out— _would it kill the man_ to actually _talk_ about his issues for once?—he thinks about time.

Time is... _weird_. The time between Henry disappearing and him coming back felt like an _eternity_ , even _if_ his weird little piss-homunculus body didn't show _any_ of it. Yeah, _that's_ a bummer, learning he wouldn't age. _Fucking purple robes_. O-Dads. Grandpas. _Whatever_ they call themselves. Making Paeden unable to fucking age into a graceful gangly teenager with a larger wingspan for stabbing. _Rude as hell._

But for all that time does not touch him, he allows it to take him where it will. He's found that he _likes_ being support more than frontline— _something something l_ ess likely to get his teeth taken out, _especially_ considering they would not be growing back _haha_ fuck you Barry Oak—because he could _help_. He _likes_ helping because he likes the boys—both dad _and_ son. And, as wild as his whole Schrodinger's child thing is—though he's never gonna let Darryl live it down, he won't force the joke on Grant unless he wants to participate—he just...wants to be _useful_. There's a large part of his brain that _needs_ to be _needed_ and that overwhelms any of his other desires, right down to the ones that say "put a knife in that man's asscrack at forty paces, Paeden". So Hephaestus answers his call, he becomes a cleric whose main deal is making shit _magic as hell_ , and he plays support. And time passes and Henry comes back and _then_...battle plan.

He catches the return of Hildy and Barry out of the corner of his eye. Hildy, _the rip in everything_ , the burning _tearing_ ** _piercing_ **pain of a thousand nuclear suns and he cannot even _begin_ to fathom the pain and terror that would be inflicted on the mortal residents _here_ if it were to—the Forge drowns out the thought before it consumes him, but the metal on his face could _easily_ make a dagger and Zone of Truth is gone.

He scrubs his face angrily. " _Shit_." He's growing to hate the pain she brings with her, even if she _is_ a riot and a half to listen to— _when_ he can hear her.

"Are you _quite done_?" Barry asks. He looks unruffled. It sets Paeden's teeth on edge.

(Behind him, out of the corner of his eye, Paeden sees Grant and Darryl stand and stagger their way towards Barry. He gestures furiously for them to stay put and, in Cant, " _danger, wait, ready_ ". Grant nods and Darryl sits down on a log, head in his hands. Paeden throws him a Lesser Restoration and watches the exhaustion lift a bit.)

**You and I are _far_ from done**, Hildy says, and Paeden is _seconds_ from casting Blindness/Deafness on himself to keep from bleeding all over his good jersey. **But I believe you owe your son an apology, teddy-bear.**

" _Quite the opposite_ ," Barry replies, calm as ever, " _He_ is the one who needs to apologize. After _all_ the effort and resources I've put into making sure that he was safe, taken care of, that he _never once_ wanted for a single thing as long as he lived here in Oakvale, _he left_. And when he returns, having _ruined_ his life by fleeing to another Plane, he has the _audacity_ to blame _me_ for his bad decisions. So when I attempt to make the transition to normalcy _easy_ on him, he once more _squanders_ my goodwill and runs. And now, after _cycles_ of leaving and returning, he has come back at last _and yet..._ "

_What a fucking piece of shit_ , the most primal part of Paeden grumbles. _Placing the blame on his son. Take blame for your mistakes you twiggy elven bastard._

"That's _not_ an apology," Lark warns.

"In fact, it sounded like the _opposite_ of an apology." Sparrow adds.

" _I_ think you should **try again** ," Lark Suggests. Barry just laughs.

" _See_ , Hen? You can't even teach your children _their heritage_." He turns his focus to Lark, a soft and _disgustingly saccharine_ smile of paternal kindness pasted all over his shitty _shitty_ face. " _Elves_ ," he says, enunciating clearly, " _cannot_ be charmed. A pity it hasn't carried to _your_ generation, isn't it?" He opens his mouth to speak again, magic curling at his fingers, and nothing comes out. Shocked, his eyes sweep the group in front of him, looking for the cause.

Lark still is gripping his weapon, brows furrowed in confusion and frustration in equal measures. Henry is breathing weird and swaying in place, like the pain he's experiencing from the weird fucking Geas Barry cast on him is _finally_ catching up to him. Paeden can't really focus on what they're doing but he's in range if need be. But Sparrow has his hand out and he grinning like he won the lotto.

Barry's mouth moves like he's asking a question and Sparrow holds a hand against his ear, tilting his head as if he's trying to pinpoint what noise should be coming from his mouth. " _I'm sorry_ ," Sparrow says, not sorry in the slightest, " _what_ was that? You _may_ have to speak up." Barry's face sets in a way that screams _I am not amused_. "Or, _I dunno_ , you could step closer and _taste my steel_ , old man."

At the phrase " _taste my steel_ ", Lark flickers slightly and a tear of energy lances from his hand and connects with Barry's chest. It looks _a lot_ like film negatives you get developed at Kodak or Kinko's. But made of light and that weird hurty-rift shit _Hildy_ did. And it smells like ozone or a flash-bulb. Makes Paeden's eyes water. The magic—or _no_ , it's _not_ magic, it's Lark's weapon, _bolstered_ by his magic—slams into Barry and he reaches to pull it from his clavicle, only for the weapon to flicker and reappear in Lark's hand. Lark waggles a finger at him and winks. " _Nope_. No touching."

"So I'm going to ask nicely, _just this once_ ," Sparrow continues. "Let _our father_ free of the spell you have him under, let us _and_ our fathers go without further issue, and give us our Anchor and _we will let you keep your knees_." Barry says something, the words eaten by Silence. Sparrow smirks and waggles a finger, " _Up-bup-bup!_ You are in the time-out zone and _you_ don't have _the talking stick_ , sir. Nod or shake, that's _all_ you get. Are you going to cooperate?" Barry takes a step forward and Lark's blade buries itself in the ground at his feet. "No moving, just answer the question. _Will you cooperate?_ "

A shard of ice buries itself in Sparrow's shoulder and explodes into a starburst of painful-looking ice growths—pink and the standard ice blue-green, blood and water in equal measures—and Sparrow drops to one knee and stares up at Barry as he opens his mouth again, the spell dropped due to lack of concentration. "I _don't_ negotiate with terrorists, unfortunately, and while I do not condone physical violence against children on _most_ days, you seem to be keen on being treated like adults. If you're going to _threaten_ me like an intruder, _I will treat you as such_."

" _Okay then_ , old man, let's fucking _tango_." Lark hisses.


	8. Pet (Henry)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DND Fact of the Chapter: Druids have horrifying spells. From Geas to Feeblemind, they are terrifying to look at but none of them have the versatility of Contagion. Each variant of the disease it can give the creature gives disadvantage on a single stat and, with it, adds on something else. Mindfever (INT and becomes Confused), Seizures (DEX and DEX-based attacks), Flesh Rot (CHA and vulnerability to all damage types), Blinding Sickness (WIS and Blinded), Filth Fever (STR and STR-based attacks), and the one I used here, Slimy Doom (CON and is Stunned when attacked). All of them are terrible and all of them are strange and the spell lasts for 7 days in total. But hey, fucking druids my guys haha.
> 
> _"I'll be the one to protect you from a will to survive and a voice of reason."_
> 
> (Title by A Perfect Circle)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: effects of magical torture, magical coercion, detailed descriptions of burns, detailed descriptions of a magical disease, a lot of blood, extreme violence

Henry is shaking. His breathing is ragged and choked. He can _barely_ _feel his fingers._ His vision is black around the edges and what _isn't_ spotty is fuzzy and out of focus. His ears are ringing and it's taking _every bit_ of his flagging energy to keep them neutral-positive. But he cannot move because the Geas demands he discipline his children and he is fighting it off with every inch of him.

Barry is gone. Taken to the Between, where Hildy lives. If he's being honest, knowing _what_ it is that Hildy is _scares_ him but...she seems to carry _some_ affection for Lark, Sparrow, and Henry and seems to have, _at one point_ at least, _cared_ about Barry.

**Do as you're told. Don't stand around and do nothing, _do as you are told_.** Henry grits his teeth and tucks his chin. A lance of pain tears down his spine and he momentarily gains feeling in his fingertips. _He wishes he didn't._ The feeling he gains is pain and fire and lightning that sets his synapses off like sparklers, but _any_ feeling is good feeling right now. _It's grounding._ He clenches his hand into a fist, claws digging into the soft meat of the heel of his hand. Blood trickles down his fingers. _Fuck._

Out of the corner of his eye, in his fuzzy and darkening vision, he can see Paeden wave his hand in his direction. A cold feeling, like water being dumped over him, alleviates some of the pain and he sends Paeden a soft smile in thanks. A Lesser Restoration won't be enough to do anything about it, but it's the thought that counts. Plus the spell chases the worst of the aches from his joints. He still has to stand, statuesque to prevent the Geas from grabbing him and throwing him at his boys. He waits.

Paeden looks unfocused. He's _probably_ having an issue dealing with Hildy. She's hard to look at, _harder still_ to comprehend and, if the brownblack blood staining his jersey and chin is any indication, _probably_ bad for your overall health if you aren't an Oak. Beyond Paeden, Grant and Darryl are sitting down, Nick and Glenn are no longer yelling but they're still aggressively posturing at each other, and Ron and Terry Junior are...they're doing _something_.

_He can't_ —he can't focus on the dialogue between Barry and Hildy or Barry and Lark and Sparrow or Barry talking at him like he's nobody, like he's nothing. There's so much pain coursing through his entire body that he can _barely_ keep himself standing, let alone be a functioning person. Still, he can get the gist.

Barry is being condescending. **Move, do what you were told, _protect him_ , discipline them.** Lark and Sparrow are being feisty. **Standing here and doing nothing is Rude and you _cannot_ be Rude. You have been told to _do_ something now _do it!_** The others are gathering to assist when shit pops off. **You cannot keep being disobedient. Move _move move_ and _do as you were told_.** Barry attacks Sparrow and he drops.

An explosion of ice from his boy's shoulder. He grabs at the spires of frozen blood and water and _glares_ , woozily, at Barry, who walks forward with purpose. Henry's whole body locks up and his hearing is clearer than it's ever been.

All he can hear is his father say, "If you're going to _threaten_ me like an intruder, _I will treat you as such._ "

Lark says _something_ in response but it is lost to Henry because _whatever_ semblance of restraint he had dissipates as soon as Sparrow slumps to the ground, _unmoving_.

Henry _screams_. There are no words to what he's saying, just raw _emotion_. Horrifying, feral, and potentially dangerous emotion. Each step he takes is agony but _he does not care_. His father hurt his son. No amount of **protect him _what are you doing_ protect him you _cannot_ raise your hand against your father _how dare you_** will prevent him meting out justice. No amount of magic and pain will still his hand and redirect his vengeance.

Barry looks confused for a moment. Why would he suspect Henry capable of hurting him? Daddy magic dictates that a child cannot harm their father. Filial subservience prevents it, in the same way a Geas demands action or inaction. But this faith in an ancient magic is what allows Henry to strike, magic-sharpened claws digging deep into flesh that has never felt the burn of his fury before.

_That is his son._

**How _dare_ you attack your father?** His muscles lock, involuntarily, but he snaps and tears enough to damage, extending his body out to deal more harm to _the man who hurt his son._

Flames lick across his skin. He can't tell if the burning is the lack of air in his lungs as he screams his voice raw or the burning magic he schools into a cloak of fury. Again and _again,_ he tears into Barry with claws dripping with acid. Again and _again_ , Barry tries to talk to him, but _he will not hear it_. Even as Barry's skin blackens and crisps, wears to the muscle and attempts to heal under his assault, _he will not stop._

**This is not allowed. This is not allowed. This is not allowed.**

_I don't **fucking** care._ He knows he should heal Sparrow but he knows that Paeden and Glenn can heal him—Glenn if he _remembers_ his goddamn healing spells, Paeden is more likely to actually do so—and he is myopic.

He catches Barry on the arm and relishes in the terror and shock that spreads across his face before every orifice on his face begins seeping sticky black blood. Then he strikes again and the blow is enough to stagger him, a bruise quick to blossom under the heel of his hand and more of the same coagulated blood oozing forth under his claws. The acrid-copper smell of acid and blood coats the back of his throat.

**Stop. Stop! _STOP!!!_** The stinging pain followed by numbness does not deter him. The tears in his eyes do not blind him enough. Again. _Again. **Again.**_

"What are you _doing_?!" Barry asks, enough to break into Henry's howling maelstrom of a mind. "Henry, **stand down**!"

" _No!_ " He responds. This is the first coherent word he's managed in several seconds.

Is there anyone else in this place aside from him and Barry _fucking_ Oak? He can't tell. It doesn't matter. His world is nothing but.

"I will tolerate many _many_ things!" He says, striking, _stunning_ , the disease coursing through and out of Barry's veins locking the damn man's limbs in place. "I will do as I am told, knowing it will _never be enough_. I will throw away _everything_ that has _ever_ made me happy to please you. I will strip myself down to the _palest_ imitation of a person to _keep you happy_ but I will _not_ stand here and let you hurt my sons!" Is he more beast then elf? Is _this_ the anger he wished to never show his sons? _Perhaps_.

Does he care so long as his goal is met? _No_.

He will beg for forgiveness later—he's good at that—but _for now_ , lack of permission will do.

He will tolerate their fear and their disgust if only to punish the one person who dared to hurt his beautiful children.

"I will allow you to take and _take_ and **_take_ **and wear me down in hopes I'll be the _perfect placid child_ to carry your legacy but I will _never_ allow you to lay a _goddamn_ hand on my sons!"

" _Look_ at yourself," Barry coughs around a mouthful of blood, coagulated into clumps like pomegranate seeds staining his teeth. "Look at what your anger has made you into! _All your life_ I have schooled you to prevent _just this moment_! **Breathe and _reconsider!_** "

If the command takes hold, it is buried underneath the already blinding pain. If the Geas changes intensity, _he cannot tell_. His skin is fire, his fingers are talons, his teeth tear chunks of flesh, and he _relishes_ in the way his father bleeds at his assault, the disease he has infected him with causing his skin and muscle to give easier beneath his attacks.

"I am what you made me, _yes_ ," Henry admits, "but I am also _so much more than that._ "

"And that is _the problem_! If you would just—"

" ** _Enough!_** " The shriek that rips from him is barely human. _He_ is barely human. The smell of his father's searing flesh is intoxicating and something dark and ancient _salivates_ at the thought of consuming what he has hunted. "I have had _enough_ of you! Shut up, _shut up, **shut up!**_ " He strikes out again and _again_ and **_again_**. Has he torn out his throat? Has he taken his tongue? He cannot see, cannot hear, _cannot feel_. His breath is shallow and gasping but he continues. He must _end this man_. He _cannot_ let him live after this.

_He cannot—_

**That is _enough_ , little scavenger.** It is not a voice but he hears it. _Feels_ it. Sees it imprinted in his mind. It stills his hand. **He has had enough.**

He stops. Not because hes been told to, but because something inside of him snaps. Physically, audibly, _literally_ , he's not certain. But it cracks and snaps and shatters. Pops put of place. And his body halts and the fire on his skin sputters out and his claws are simply elven claws and _he feels heavy._

**I know,** Hildy says, and it is strange how comforting this is in this moment. Her "voice". It is _grounding_. **I _know_ how badly you want him to hurt but you can't destroy _yourself_ to do it. They still need you. Your little birds. _Your bananas._**

Somehow, _despite_ the cold that grips his skin and locks his jaw, _despite_ the exhaustion that smothers him and crushes him like the bottom of a pool, he _sobs_.

**I know. _I know._ But you _have_ to let go. You _don't_ have to _forgive_. You've made your mark here. But you _can't_ become this. If you keep going, it _will_ kill you.**

Inside his head the Geas screams **STOP STOP STOP STOP STOP.** How long has it been doing that? How long has his father been begging for mercy?

He sobs again, broken, _choking_. He cannot breathe but _he cries_ , wordless. He cannot move but he collapses, a puppet with cut strings. He cannot— _he cannot_ — ** _he_** —

**Trust in them,** she urges, **they've made it this far. Trust their judgement. They'll choose what to do with him. Let go and _sleep_ now. If you don't, you won't make it. He's broken that spell enough to _kill_ you if you keep this up. The original limitations don't exist.**

He needs— _Sparrow!_ Is Sparrow okay? Is he— _are they okay?_ Are they _alive_?!

**They're _fine_. Tough little scrappers.**

He breathes, inhaling shakily, shallow, _he can't_ —

**Trust me. I've kept birdy alive _this_ long. I can watch them a bit longer. And your friends are going to help as well.**

The world goes...dark? Or _less_...

There _used_ to be a door in his head. There is one again, but it isn't keeping something _in_. No, instead he retreats behind it to rest, disconnects himself from his body and the pain it's under. And the world is dark and quiet and _calm_.


	9. Monster (Under My Bed) (Henry)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DND Fact of the Chapter: the DND 5e mechanic of madness is trite and abelist. It is divided into three types: short term (1d10 minutes), long-term (1d10x10 hours), and indefinite (forever until removed by Greater Restoration or Remove Curse or Wish). They stack and, once a character has experienced an indefinite madness, they then gain a short-term madness, then long-term, and another indefinite. Most DMs don't use madness, but the module Out of the Abyss uses it as a plot point so I have to know a lot about it. I wish it didn't suck but, as the great Final Pam once said "I take a hammer and fix the sourcebook."
> 
> _"Monster, monster under my bed, come out and play 'cause I need a friend."_
> 
> (Title by Call Me Karizma)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: mild body horror, clinical discussion of the effects of long-term trauma

He wakes—or, is it waking if it is sudden and unknown, floating in nothing and nowhere that sounds and smells and feels the same as the space behind the Hatch—and breathes, for the first time, _without_ issue. When he exhales, the world ripples, soap bubbles and soundwaves. " _Oh_ ," he says. His voice is raspy and torn, cracking, vellum and dried leather. " _Hm._ "

**Hello, little scavenger.** He looks forward—if forward _exists_ here in this nowhere nothing place—and there is Hildy. She wiggles her fingers at him and he blinks. Then she is _different_.

Sparrow had called her their great grandmother. _His_ grandmother. _Barry's mother._ He had _assumed_ that he was exaggerating, considering that an elf and a human could not be that closely related biologically. Looking at her now...he could see it.

Sandy blonde hair in a soft curled bob. A wide smile accentuated with bright red stain. Brilliant green eyes. Pale skin dusted with soft freckles. Lithe but, beneath that, _muscular_.

She crosses one leg over the other and nods at him. " **How are you?** "

_Oh! Huh._ " _That's_ a question."

" **That's why I asked it!** " She chirps. He can't help the smile that that brings him. She's very similar to his boys in that regard.

" _How am I?_ " He looks down at his arms and frowns. They're unharmed. Perfect as the last time he looked at them. Soft scar on the heel of his hand, near his wrist, from baking. Hemp bracelet around his wrist. Light blonde hair all the way down. Muscles flexing visibly beneath the skin.

" **They look that way because you want them to.** "

"And if I _don't_?"

" ** _Don't_ you?**"

He doesn't answer her.

The silence is...it _isn't_. This place-that-is-not feels populated and loud, but not in a way that hurts. It's _comfortable_. Reminds him of home.

" ** _So?_** " Hildy asks, quirking an eyebrow at him.

" _So_ ," he answers, thinking to himself. "I am...scared. _Terrified_ , really."

" **What has you so spooked? You _killed_ your demon, more or less!**"

"What comes _after_ that. The... _repercussions_." Hildy hums in response and Henry continues, unburdened. "What my sons and my... _friends_ will think of me after... _that_. How this will effect my body. I know that healing magic won't take _everything_ away. _I know_ that there will be lingering consequences. I'm just...scared of... _that_."

" **Do you think they'll hate you? Your boys. Your _friends_.**" She's leading the question. That's a sneaky and unprofessional trick. Behind her, he can see a typewriter taking notes. He thinks it away, not comfortable with everything being recorded. Still, it was amusing.

" _I_ —maybe not. No more than I hate myself."

" ** _Fear_ you, then?**"

"Wouldn't _you_?" Behind her he can see the scene from the outside. He can see himself, snarling, inhuman, and blazing. He can see himself tear into his father with claws and teeth. He can see the magical disease ravage his father's body and he can finally hear his father screaming for him to _stop_.

He can see himself refuse to give him mercy.

"I _wanted_ him to suffer. To _hurt_. I spent _so long_ trying to be not my father that I became something _worse_. I could have just stopped him before it got bad but I became... _that_."

Hildy glances over her shoulder and idly hums, half-lidded eyes scanning the repeating recording. She turns back, face impassive.

" **You _aren't_ worse than him, you know.**"

" _You don't—_ "

" ** _Both of us_ have been victimized by Barry Oak and I am being _completely_ honest with you: you are _not_ worse than him.**" She cuts him off, her words buckshot into the image, ripples of remembering showing a less cohesive Hildy screaming for him to come back, banging her fists against the inside of the Hatch. She cries the same borealis that tears from her wrists. She asks _what she did wrong_.

" _I—_ "

" ** _Consequences?_** " She interrupts, aborting that train thought.

"I'm not a doctor _but_...I put a _lot_ of strain on my body. Magic can only go so far. _Psychologically_ I'm most likely going to experience a lot as well." He's being oddly subjective at the moment. Its strange. "I think I broke a couple bones in my hand. _Definitely_ dislocate something. Ruined my lungs. Don't know about the heart though. Chronic pain going forward, most likely."

" **You want me to show you or do you want to see it when you wake up?** " She tilts her head and he's reminded of a bird, inquisitive, amused. " **All at once or piece by piece.** "

He considers. Shakes his head. " _No_."

" **You _deserve_ to have space to heal, you know? You're not a monster and you saved your boys and your friends.**"

"I...I know."

" ** _Do_ you?**" She presses.

" _I know_ ," he repeats with more conviction. "I just...think it would be better to handle it _outside_. In... _reality_."

" **That is _entirely_ fair.**" After a moment that feels like an eternity, she speaks up again. " **Do you want to know how it ended?** "

_Does he?_ Henry genuinely thinks about it. _Does_ he want to see the scene play out in stereo, from the outside, his prone body in the background?

" _I_...don't think so."

Hildy laughs and it sounds _exactly_ like his boys. The more time he spends with her—or at least the more _human_ her in this space that is not—the more he realizes that she may not be _physically_ related to him, but her personality can be felt _all the way back_ to Lark and Sparrow. " ** _Seriously_ , though, I'm proud of you. That was _a lot_ and you did your best.**"

"I _ran_. I ran and _left them_ for _several_ years." He can't help but sound bitter. "I ran and _when_ I came back I expected everyone to take me back like—like the prodigal son and they _didn't_ and I wasn't certain _how_ to deal with that. And _then_ , when it came to rescuing my friends, I let the boys get hurt. Sorry if I fail to see how that is having _done good_."

" **You were hurting and scared. You left to heal and the time messiness _isn't your fault_. And when you came back, you did your best to deal with both the return of the Geas _and_ the situation at hand and, _hey_ , it worked!**" She leans forward, eyes boring into his. " **You managed to stop Barry before he could do anything _worse_. That's admirable.**"

"I'm glad _you_ think so." Bitter, lemon rind, through his teeth.

" **I'm not the _only_ one.**"

He waits comfortably in the not-silence in this not-space. When he speaks again, his voice is that crackly low broken thing. Maybe that's how he sounds now. "How long has it been?"

" _ **Weeks.**_ "

" _Ehh_ ," his shoulders touch his ears. "Where?"

" **Safe.** " She waves a hand at him. When Henry stares her down, she winks at him. " **You didn't want to know, little scavenger, you don't get to pick and choose. _All or nothing._** "

"That's... _that's fair_."

When she speaks up again, she looks pensive. Worried. " **When you go back, I _won't_ be able to follow. The barrier between Oak Ridge and Faerûn is thin because of the Hatch but _Earth_ is...too much for me. I don't know _what_ I'll do but...I think I'm going to miss you three. You _and_ your little birds. I think I got too used to not being lonely.**" She hums, pensive. " **I wonder if I'll start to forget being Hildy again.** "

" _Thank you._ For taking care of them when I couldn't."

She smiles, sad and grateful. " **You have two _wonderful_ children. Be proud of them.**"

" _I am._ "

The world ripples and flexes, tearing and burning at the edges. The smell of astringent herbs and wood smoke floods Henry's lungs and he coughs, shallow. Hildy's form flickers again and she is the photo-negative, her wrists bleeding stardust. She stands up and wraps Henry in a hug.

**_Be safe_ , little scavenger. Be strong. You're going _home_.**

With a sharp exhalation, Henry's eyes open wide.


	10. Dandelion (Sparrow)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DND Fact of the Chapter: Chill Touch is an insanely cool cantrip because it prevents healing. With high level characters like Barry, considering druids have Regenerate and most healing spells, locking them out of healing is the best way to put them down.
> 
> _"Call me what you want. You can't stop me multiplying."_
> 
> (Title by Gabbie Hanna)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: discussion of cremation, clinical discussion of hypoxia and long-term effects of magical torture

What happened was terrifying. What's follows is _worse_ , somehow.

Sparrow pulls his knees against his chest as he watches Erin mutter to Nick over some kind of apothecary setup, flasks and beakers of liquids bubbling and a mortar and pestle full of some sharp smelling herb waiting to be utilized. Paeden's hands are glowing a low yellow-orange as he does his daily Restoration and healing pass-over. Beside him, snoring softly, Lark is sleeping. His face is the least wrinkled it's been in _months_. Days. Minutes. He looks content.

_God, I wish that were me._

Barry Oak is in the dirt. Or, rather, he is ash and dust. After everything was said and done, _he didn't deserve to take up space._ They didn't even build a pyre. TJ pinned him with a Chill Touch and Ron just Rebuked him until he went up and they watched him scatter in the wind.

That was one less thing to worry about.

Their Anchor was _also_ taken care of. They didn't need to bother waiting for father to recover. They broke it, the two of them, while Oakvale tried to pull itself back together.

(Hopefully _Canary_ will be a better leader than Barry was. She seems nice enough.)

In front of him, barely moving, barely _breathing_ , is their father. It's terrifying to think about the possibilities but Sparrow and Lark have gotten good at reading his shallow breathing and listening for the soft pulse of his heart. He's alive. _He's alive._

When father's breath hitches, a sharp inhale, Sparow nudges Lark awake and they both snap to stare at him. Erin and Nick are soaking bandages with a solution made of herbs and a saline solution and Paeden is leaning against a wall, breathing, but _they see it_. They see _him_.

They see him open his eyes.

" _Father?_ " Lark asks, softly. Henry's ears slam against his head as best they can, brow furrowing in a combination of pain and confusion. He blinks a lot and tries to turn his head but the way he's laying on the ground prevents it. Instead he just opens his mouth and tries to speak.

" _Aa?_ " A raspy croak escapes. That's enough to alert Erin and Nick, who both stare for half a beat before Nick darts off to get a bottle of some liquid he passes to Erin. " _Hhk?_ "

" _Don't,_ " Lark says, desperate. "You... _wait_ , okay?" Father's face crinkled into weak confusion but his ears settled, his throat working as if he's still trying to speak.

"Well, well, Henry Oak, look who outlasted a ninth level curse, _more or less_? Welcome back." Erin is good at sounding unaffected but, there is sincerity in her snark. She is happy to see him alive. They all are.

" _Should I—?_ " Nick tilts his head at the cave entrance but Lark and Sparrow shake their heads. "Cool. I'll have Teej open a Message for you. Let us know what's up, kay?"

Lark flashes him an OK sign and he slips into the shadows and out the entrance. Paeden just stands up and staggers towards Henry, his head tilted sideways a bit from exhaustion.

Erin gently coaxes Henry into a sitting position against the cave wall and hands Paeden the drink. "Help him with this. Your throat is probably shot to fuck and back. Intravenous hydration will only go so far. Sorry, Oak."

Father lets out a hiss of what might be an attempt at thanks. She waves her hand at him.

"I'll let you be. Let me know if you need us." And she, too, leaves the cave.

They sit in heavy silence for a long time, Henry gently sipping on the drink through a straw, Paeden quiet save his own asthmatic breathing.

"We finished him off," Lark says. "He's not gonna hurt anyone _any more_."

Henry's ears give away anxiety and fear and trepidation. Sparrow shakes his head.

" _Don't be that way_. He almost _ended_ you. He almost killed _me_. He didn't _deserve_ to stick around." The venom in his voice shocks even him but...

(He'd been _so cold_. It had taken _hours_ for the color to come back to his fingers and lips and even then, hypoxia could have taken the whole extremity with it. His breathing had been _so shallow_ and he was limp. His hand had been shattered and Paeden had remarked that it was a miracle that he hadn't torn more.)

("He broke himself to keep fighting. _Literally_ tore muscle and tendon to fight against his own body.")

(They thought he'd died a couple times, before they realized his new normal. It was _horrifying_.)

Henry's ears relax and he sips away. Sparrow lets out a tense breath through his teeth. " _Sorry_ , but...I just...it was _scary_."

His ears pinned back, eyes downcast. Now that he's awake, it's easier to tell the extent of things they couldn't. His pupils are blown, unfocused. When he does move, it's in soft jerks and stuttering slow arcs. His breathing is raspy and, even awake, _shallow_.

"But you're _okay_ ," Sparrow can hear his voice crack. His vision swims. He doesn't care. " _You're okay._ We can go home soon."

Back, neutral dismissive. A twinge of fear. Paeden pulls the drink away—the bottle empty—and stands up, groaning as his knees buckle for a second under him. "Good to see you up, Henry. Now the P-man is gonna go get some z's, holler if you need a touch up."

" _Thanks_ ," Lark nods at him as he walks out. Sparrow balls his fists against his side.

The silence is warm and stifling. The cave itself is kept warmer than the area outside because of his circulation issues. Sparrow wishes it was cooler. He's sweating up a storm.

"Father," he finally says, "I'm _sorry_."

" _Hhw?_ " Henry tries to say, ears asymmetrical confused. His voice is still crackly and raw, but better than before.

"I was... _so unkind?_ I was hurting and I _shouldn't_ have taken it out on you. When you fell _I_ —" He clutches at his left shoulder, where the starburst scar left from Barry's Ice Knife lays, trying to center himself. "—I thought that maybe that would be the last thing I said to you and it was... _so scary_. I should have...it's not _fair_ because you were a victim too _but_..."

" _Nn,_ " Henry croaks. His arm tenses and, shaking stuttering, he moves it to try and cup the side of Sparrow's face. The weight to the movement is like his arm is a thousand pounds and, though his ears and face indicate he's struggling, he powers through to press cold fingers against warm skin.

Sparrow sobs and leans into his father's touch. Lark follows, sandwiching the man between them. They lay there for as long as they need to, _crying_ for all they're worth. Nothing else needs to be said.

When Erin walks back in minutes later, another drink and a tonic in her hand, she finds Henry asleep sitting up, his sons curled against his sides, all three of them out like lights.

Things were going to be okay after all.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find the fic's playlist: [here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1rItxEIJqt6oGJxilwQeG5?si=s4rQDE3IQfKtp05ZGv2I-w)
> 
> Please lemme know if I need to tag anything.


End file.
